Don't Tell
by SlightlyElliot
Summary: Phil manages to bring Clint into SHIELD after finding him half dead in Paris. However Phil was entirely wrong if he believed that he already knew all of Clint's secrets. Phil embarks on a journey to earn Clint's trust, but Clint has been taught not to tell, and it's hard to talk to him if he doesn't talk back. No slash. Pre-avengers. Sequel to Too Far Gone.
1. Chapter 1

Don't Tell

Phil manages to bring Clint into SHIELD after finding him in Paris. However, the hardest part of Clint's journey has only just begun. Phil was entirely wrong if he believed that he already knew all of Clint's secrets. But it's also hard to talk to Clint if Clint doesn't talk back. No slash. Pre-avengers. Sequel to Too Far Gone.

I don't own the Avengers, sadly.

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Consciousness came slowly, one sense at a time. First there was touch- the soft mattress beneath him and the warmth of the room. Then smell, the disinfectant and the dry air. The pain also returned- a dull ache all over his body, not at all as severer as before, but still persistent and hiding at the back of his mind. But the world around him remained quiet and still, and an all too familiar suppressing silence weighted down on his ears.

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Clint's eyes flew open. His sight hadn't yet recovered, and all he saw around him were blurs of white and beige. He had absolutely no idea where he was, but was far more worried about where the hell his hearing aids had gone. Not only was he partially blind, he was deaf too. His baffled mind descended into panic and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and attempted to stand, only for his knees to buckle. There was a flurry of movement and a vaguely humanoid shape rushed towards him. Clint went to strike it down, but arms circled around his waist and pulled him to the floor so that his back was pushed against the side of the bed. Clint struggled furiously, but could feel fading anaesthetics rendering him weak and confused. A face loomed towards him, attempted to speak and then frowned. Clint was surrounded in a white blanket of silence; everything was muffled as if behind a thick glass wall.

Clint twisted and kicked but the arms around him tightened. In front of him, the man began moving his hands. It took a moment or two for Clint's befuddled mind to recognise it as sign language, and even longer for him to translate.

_I have your hearing aids. If you calm down, I will give them back to you._

_My name is Phil, do you remember me?_

_Calm down, no one is going to hurt you._

Gradually, Clint's struggling grew weaker until he sat still. Phil nodded to the man behind Clint, who let him go and moved so he was sitting a short distance away. Phil held out his hearing aids, and after Clint put them in, blessed sound seeped through the thick glass around him.

Phil waited until Clint's eyes focused on him apprehensively- he seemed more alert and aware, so Phil spoke. "Clint, I'm Phil Coulson, do you remember me?"

Clint was silent for a moment and just stared analytically, before nodding. He then eyed the person to his right, a tall man with medium length black hair and a beard cut close to his chin. His skin was smooth beside the wrinkles around his eyes, and his expression was intense, but not threatening.

"This is Eric Yale. He's SHIELD's head Doctor."

Eric nodded and gave a quick smile, which Clint didn't return.

Phil climbed to his feet and held his hand out to Clint, who ignored it and got up alone. Phil frowned, but didn't comment. He glanced at Clint, and then said to Eric, "Can you sign Clint out? I can keep and eye on him, and I don't think it would be great for him to be cooped up in here any longer than he has to be."

Eric shrugged. "Sure. I don't especially want him trashing the place anyway. No vigorous exercise for two weeks minimum, then come back here for me to clear you completely." He turned to Clint, who looked away quickly. "If you feel any worse, come back here for me to check you over. Now shoo, get out of here."

Phil smiled. "Thanks Eric." He beckoned to Clint, "Come on, kid."

Clint tried to memorize the route to wherever they were going, but the network of corridors was too vast for him to follow in his bewildered state. A million different things were buzzing around inside his head- where was he? Was this SHEILD? He remembered everything from Paris with crystal clarity despite the state he had been in. But had Coulson been telling the truth? Clint was immediately wary of him but at the same time, Phil Coulson had a strange feel about him- open and honest, but certainly not stupid. Clint wondered how long it would be before Phil would show his true colors.

Once they got to a less populated corridor, Phil slowed down so that they could walk side by side, though Clint was careful to keep his distance. "How are you feeling?" Phil asked.

Clint glanced at him, hesitating. "Fine."

"Are you hungry? You haven't eaten anything but water and glucose in days."

Clint had no memory of having either of these things, but was hungry. On the other hand, it might be a trick question, and then Phil might get angry at him for complaining. Not being able to decide, he settled for saying nothing.

Phil looked across at him, frowning. "Well I'll make you something anyway, you need to eat."

Phil stopped in front of a door, unlocked it, and entered. Clint stopped in the doorway.

Inside was a fairly large room with a sofa and TV to the right with two closed doors either side, and a small kitchen area to the left. Clint waited until no one jumped out at him, and then followed Phil into the room. The man was at the kitchen, running water into a sauce pan. He glanced over his shoulder at Clint, smiling. "Do you like pasta?"

Clint glanced around the room again, and then shrugged.

"Well it'll be tomato sauce because it's the only thing I have in the fridge and if I venture too far from the safety of ready prepared foods things tend to… burn." Phil said, glancing over at Clint only to see his perfectly blank expression. Other than his eyes, which were one again like light behind curtains. Phil could see anger and wariness, though the despair may have died down slightly.

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Clint didn't laugh at Phil's joke because he knew the older man was just trying to lure him into a false sense of security. He moved over to lean on the work surface whist Phil cooked, to watch very carefully what he was doing.

Barely twenty minutes later, Phil dished the pasta into two different bowls and brought it to the table. They sat next to each other, and Clint waited until Phil had eaten to make sure it hadn't been tampered with.

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Clint ate fast, like someone who hadn't eaten properly in far too long and was afraid the food would be taken away from him. Phil reflected that he did look a little to skinny- muscular, lithe and wiry, but still skinny. At only just 17, he still had the build of an adolescent- his shoulders were fairly wide but not overly so. He was short; maybe five foot five and his SHIELD issue clothes were a little to big. He was wary, his eyes darting around the room and coming to rest on Phil every once in a while, eyeing him up and down as if he didn't quite know what to make of him. He was very, very distrustful and seemed to be expecting to be hurt in some way.

Clint finished eating and carefully laid his cutlery side by side on his plate. He stared intently at Phil for a moment, before speaking. "What happens now?"

Phil also finished eating, and leaned backwards in his chair. "Well, you're got two weeks of rest before you can be cleared by medical. You need to decide whether you're going to work for us or not. If you're not, we can still help you get back on your feet. But in the meantime there's a woman called Jane Griffin, who I want you to talk to."

Clint was silent for a moment more. "What will happen if I work for you?"

"Well, you'll go through training first. And then you'll be an agent. This would consist of a lot of things, assassinations, espionage, collecting intel, and so on. If you didn't decide to work for us we'd try and get you back into some form of education. We'd give you money to start and new life, somewhere to stay and we'd keep and eye on you."

"Who's Jane Griffin?"

"She's a psychologist."

Clint was silent for a moment, and when he spoke he acted almost ashamed of his ignorance. "What's a psychologist?"

"A psychologist is a doctor who specialises in mental health."

Clint grew even more apprehensive. "What does that mean?"

"It means you can talk to her about how you're feeling, and she can make you feel better."

Clint frowned- this was probably the first proper facial expression he had actually shown since waking up. "What, like feeling ill?"

"No, like feeling sad or angry." Phil said carefully.

Clint's expression darkened. "I don't want to talk to her. I'm fine."

"Then she can talk to you."

Clint sighed, and picked up his knife to twirl it around his fingers. Phil would have been lying if he had said that he wasn't somewhat intimidated, even if Clint didn't seem to be doing it in a purposely threatening way.

Phil glanced at his watch. "It's 9 o'clock so we have an hour to kill. If you wanted, I can show you round the Helicarrier."

Clint glanced up, frowning questioningly.

"Oh, SHIELD's headquarters is a massive flying aircraft carrier. Though we're at sea at the moment."

Clint just stared at Phil with what could only be described as utter disbelief.

Phil smirked, and stood up. "Come on, I'll show you."

They headed back through the Helicarrier, up multiple staircases until they came to what looked like a service hatch on the outer wall. Phil twisted it open and exited, Clint following behind.

Clint found himself on what did look like an aircraft carrier, apart from it was bigger than anything Clint had ever seen before. The inside facilities were situated bellow the deck of the aircraft carrier, on which futuristic planes and jets were tied down. The deck was sparsely populated, possibly due to the late hour.

"Impressive?" Phil asked. Clint nodded mutely. "It was collaboratively designed by Hank Pym and Tony Stark. This is one of the later adaptations. The earlier prototypes were a little… unreliable. To find them suddenly plummeting to the ground wasn't at all uncommon." Phil glanced across at Clint to see if he would react at all, but his shock from earlier had vanished, replaced once more with his dark, empty facial expression.

Clint wondered over to the edge of the Helicarrier, Phil following close behind. His wariness escalated when Clint walked to the very edge, only stopping when he was literally inches away from falling into the sea. Phil told himself that this fear was irrational- it was fairly unlikely that Clint would jump, but even if he did, there was protocol in place for people falling off the Helicarrier. It had happened before. Many times.

Clint stared intensely into the water for a moment before saying, "Where are we?"

Phil blinked, thrown by the unrelated question. "Somewhere over the Pacific."

"Does it really fly?" Suddenly Clint's expression looked slightly less closed off- Phil could see wariness and something almost like curiosity.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Phil frowned, so Clint reworded the abrupt question. "I mean, what's the point?"

Phil laughed. "Oh, well firstly it's pretty classy. Also we can get anywhere we need to in record time. And we're undetected and protected from attacks."

Clint nodded, and then returned to his usual, empty self.

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It was around 10 o'clock and having nothing else to do, Phil showed Clint to the new recruit accommodation. They were situated a floor down from Phil's apartment and consisted of narrow rooms with a single bed and a chest of draws. The walls were gray and a bulb hung from a wire from the low ceiling. It was a running joke that new recruits qualified so quickly in SHIELD simply to get out of the horrendous accommodation.

"Right, lights out is at 10pm and breakfast is in the canteen at 7am, but I'll come down here at ten to seven to show you where it is, ok? There are clothes in the draws, don't cause trouble, I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep well." And with that, Phil left.

Clint inspected the room for cameras, traps and hidden people before stripping down to his boxers and collapsing onto the bed. Already, he could feel the growing anxiety of the small room. In fact, he could just feel the growing anxiety of the whole situation. He was in entirely unfamiliar circumstances- he didn't know any of these people, and certainly didn't trust them. He had no idea what was going to happen to him, whether or not he wanted to become an agent, whether or not this was just a massive trap. This didn't make much sense as Phil Coulson could have killed him ages ago- well, tried to- and Clint didn't understand how he could have caught so much attention for this whole ruse. Clint's usual uneasiness and wariness was beginning to increase to fear as he struggled to calm himself down. Who were these people? Why were they doing this? What did Coulson want? Why did he want it? Where was he? What was going on? What was going to happen to him? What the _hell_ was he doing here, and how the _hell_ did he get into this mess?

Clint's breathing started to speed up as he propelled himself out of the bed. He needed to get out of this tiny, shrinking gray room which reminded him far too much of the blanket box.

All small spaces reminded him of the blanket box.

Clint pulled on some clothes and exited the room at a hurry. He was vaguely aware that as it was now slightly past 10pm but this insignificant fact was far, far down on his unending list of worries. Clint had no idea where he was going until he reached the hatch he and Phil had used earlier. Throwing himself into a wide open space was the only thing that really helped his claustrophobia, and there weren't many spaces wider than the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Sometime during the last half an hour the sun had sunken into the sea and the moon, round and full, had risen, projecting a rippled white face onto the water. The wind was nonexistent and all was silent- Clint could barely hear the engines whirring away, and sent silent thanks to Hank Pym and Tony Stark. He sat down cross legged at the very edge of the Helicarrier, closing his eyes and listening to the water lapping at the massive boat/aircraft/thing.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost convince himself that he was on a desert island far away from everything and everyone. Far away from his father and Peter Moore and Barney and Jacques and Tchoverick. Almost. But not quite.

_14 years and you'll be free at last. But not really- because they'll always be in here, right? _Barney had been right, completely right. He was never far away from them all because they were all inside his head. In his dreams, his thoughts, his hallucinations. He saw his father as drunks in bars and pubs. If someone was being over friendly, he was Peter Moore. If someone one was going to stab him in the back, he was Jacques. If he trusted someone, he saw them as Barney. So it was easier not to trust anyone, not to talk to anyone, not to interact. If he retreated deep within himself, no one could hurt him. Thing is, Clint had realized not long ago that when he retreated inside his head, Barney and his father and Moore and Jacques were there too. All he had left was the remains of his sanity and all the demons he carried with him.

_You're not fighting back now either. Didn't dad teach you anything?_

_Come out_

_Don't tell anyone about this. It's is __**our**__ secret, understand?_

_You're such a pussy, Clint_

_Come out_

_ Haven't you had enough trouble from men like me?_

"Clint."

_Money makes the world go round, Clint_

_Clint was always better than Barney._

"Clint, breathe."

_Did you give up? _Yes, yes he had given up

_Always look after the number 1- and the number 1 is always you. _He tried to look after the number one, but look where that got him?

_You used to fight back. _But somewhere, long ago, he stopped fighting

_Oh how __**long**__ I have been waiting to do this._

_And I'm here to… I'm here to help you. _A lie, it's a lie

_I'm not going to hurt you like everyone else did_. Lie, lie, lie.

_Look at what they all did to you Clint._

"Clint, you're having a panic attack. Breathe, it's going to be ok."

_They killed him. They all killed him and now all I have to do is just kill what's left._

"Clint, breathe."

_Come out_

_Don't tell anyone about this. It's is __**our**__ secret, understand?_

"I won't, I won't tell anyone."

"Clint, it's ok."

"I won't tell anyone, I promise."

"Clint they're not here, they're gone."

"I promise, please don't hurt me."

"Clint you're safe, no one's going to hurt you."

"Don't hurt me." Clint felt himself being carried, felt the fresh air of outside vanish, replaced by the recycled air inside.

"Please leave me alone." A door opened, and then closed.

"Don't hurt me." Someone put him down.

"Deep breaths, its ok."

Clint couldn't tell whether his sight returned slowly, or he simply opened his eyes. Gradually a room unfurled, big, spacious, a high ceiling but not too high, warm colors, light blue, green. A window behind a desk, curtains drawn. Paintings on the walls showing rivers, seas and mountains. A circular lamp casting a warm glow across the room. A brown haired woman.

The woman smiled. "Clint, can you here me?"

"Don't hurt me." His mouth stumbled ahead of his brain.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Clint."

"What happened?" Clint mumbled, trying to push himself onto his elbows but then giving up after he was washed over by a massive wave of fatigue.

"You had a panic attack."

"A what?"

"A panic attack. It can happen to someone if they get very scared."

"I'm not very scared."

"Are you sure?" The woman questioned gently.

"I'm not scared. Men don't get scared."

"Who told you that?" She asked soothingly.

"My da- wait, no one. What's going on? Where am I? Who are you?" This time he managed to catch himself, though barely.

"I'm Jane Griffin. And this is my… well, they say it's my office, but I don't like that word. Anyway, you're safe here."

"You're lying."

"Why do you think that?"

Clint stared at here for a moment. He felt almost concussed. "I don't understand."

"Why don't you go to sleep? I can explain in the morning. Can I take you back to your room?"

Clint shook his head with such ferocity it surprised Jane a little. "No. I'm not going back there."

"Why not?"

"I don't like it."

"Why's that?"

"It's too small."

"Are you claustrophobic?"

"I'm tired." Suddenly Clint's exhausted brain couldn't keep up with this twenty-question conversation.

"Do you want to sleep here?"

"I don't know."

"I can stay here if you like."

"In the room?"

"Yes."

"Whist I'm sleeping?"

"Yes."

"If you touch me, I'll kill you."

Jane wasn't very phased about the threat, but was more concerned over what Clint had said before it. Then again, she had read Phil's report, knew all about Moore, and wasn't that surprised.

"I won't touch you, Clint."

Clint frowned, and then his eyes drifted closed. "Okay."

Jane waited until Clint was fully asleep before going to get Phil Coulson on the phone.

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Hello! So this is the sequel to Too Far Gone, and I'd recommend reading that first so that everything makes sense. It's also in the same universe as A Childhood Lost, so you should definitely go and read that as well :D This story is 96% written up so all I have to do is post it. I'll be updating at least every other day. So this got off to a pretty intense start, but keep reading. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Clint was awoken by the sunlight streaming through the window, the blinds casting bars along the floor. For a moment he struggled to remember why he was in this strange, unfamiliar room, but slowly the events of the night before came back to him.

Panic attacks were infrequent but not rare. Usually he dealt with them by calming himself down, riding them out or sealing himself deep inside his head, away from all the emotions and memories. For whatever reason, possibly due to the even more emotional trauma he had been subjected to recently or the supremely unfamiliar situation, none of these techniques had worked this time.

True to her word, Jane had stayed in the room all night yet not approached him- and Clint would have known if she had. He was a phenomenally light sleeper, and was now so paranoid and on edge that he could wake after hearing someone move across the other side of the street. This came in useful of course, but also meant that he left his hearing aids in for far longer than he should. However, this didn't bother Clint- as morbid as though it sounded, he was well aware that he would certainly die before his ears wore out.

If SHIELD kept their word, and helped Clint slip back into society, would he maybe survive? Could he actually out live, as it were, his hearing? This foolish daydream lasted for approximately thirty seconds before Clint shook himself back into reality- he had always been outside 'normal society' and had drifted gradually further away as he grew older. Clint would never, ever be able to fit back in. He didn't know how.

But what would happen if he became an agent of SHIELD? It felt restricting and secretive, and so far the base at least certainly hadn't impressed him. Well, it was certainly a magnificent piece of machinery, but it was small and crowded, with busy corridors and tiny rooms. There were too many people rushing around, each stuck in their private little worlds of secrecy, not being able to breathe a word of their business to anyone but the boss, whoever that was. No, it certainly didn't seem like the place for Clint. So where would he go? Phil had said SHIELD would keep an eye on him if he tried to start off a new life, and Clint could hear the underlying message- they would be watching him to make sure he didn't slip back into his past profession. And if he did, they would take him out, no second chances this time. But Clint would never be able to deal with being watched his entire life. And he would never be able to get away- after seeing SHIELD's superior technology, resources and agents, he was certain that there was no escape. Either way, he was entirely trapped.

Clint sighed heavily. Any other time, these pessimistic yet realistic thoughts would have sent him spiralling down another abyss of panic, but after last nights' events, he felt entirely drained. So he pushed this to the back of his mind along with all his other problems, and tried to think of something else.

Jane Griffin was lying on the floor inside a purple sleeping bag. She was a striking woman, not so much pretty as more handsome, with strong, defined features. Her nose was straight and her eyebrows were dark and long. Her hair was also long, reaching past her shoulders and a long, sleek wave. It was a medium shade of brown, platted and braided in places. She was tall, from what Clint could see, with wide shoulders and a sturdy build, she looked very much like a professional swimmer. Clint didn't find it hard to believe that she had carried him all the way here. Although she was probably around forty years of age, her skin was tanned and smooth aside from around her eyes, which was wrinkled, implying that she smiled often. Clint liked her. However, this didn't mean he trusted her- Clint didn't trust anyone.

Jane stretched and yawned loudly, probably to alert Clint that she was awake in order to not surprise him. Clint sat up slowly, careful to look alert. He didn't want to make her think that he was letting his guard down. Though he realised that aside from maybe crying- and men didn't cry- he couldn't have let his guard down further the night before. He sighed again.

Jane stood up steadily, and began to roll up her sleeping bag. "Good morning." She said happily. Clint was aware that she was careful not to look him straight in the eye- they had done the same thing with uneasy horses in the circus, though surely he didn't look like an uneasy horse?

After her sleeping bag was squashed back inside its bag, she stored it away inside a cupboard to the left of the room, built into the wall. Then she turned to smile at Clint. "Are you hungry?" He didn't reply, but she was undeterred. "Let's go find Phil, and then we'll head down to the canteen."

Clint didn't reply, but followed her out of the door.

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Phil had received a call from Jane Griffin at around eleven the night before, explaining what had happened- therefore he wasn't at all surprised to find Jane and Clint outside his door at quarter to seven the next morning.

Phil Coulson and Jane Griffin had met briefly before in a child trafficking incident, though had not properly talked. However even then she had looked perfectly calm and content, as she did now, even with a glowering young master assassin standing not a few feet away (he seemed careful to keep his distance), who, if possible, had gained an extra level of metal instability and weariness over the course of the night. All in all, Clint looked angry, sad, tired and wary all at once. It was undeniably impressive.

Once at the canteen, Clint spent a few moments trying to decide which breakfast looked least threatening. Jane recommended the jam and toast, to which his wariness visibly rocketed, and he choose porridge instead.

Jane and Phil conversed lightly at the table, and Phil realised how restricted the conversations of a SHIELD agent were- he wasn't permitted to talk of his past, he future or anything vaguely related to his career. This of course, left the weather. Clint listened to their talk of the ever more frequent thunderstorms, but grew gradually more and more distracted and wary as the canteen filled with more people. Half way though the meal he seemed to realise that he had unwisely chosen to sit with his back towards the room. He moved to the other side of the table, now sitting beside Phil but still keeping well away.

They were then joined by Eric, who sat beside Jane and introduced himself, scoffed down his breakfast before darting off again to perform heart surgery.

Clint's hands curled into fists on the table, and his breath had quickened. His uneasiness was escalating- His eyes constantly darted around the room, never staying on one spot for more than three seconds, but returning to it a few minutes later. He seemed to be analysing every single person in the room, categorising their level of threat and storing the information away for later.

Jane was also studying Clint out of the corner of her eye, watching his nervous ticks, jerky behaviour and the way he flinched and glared whenever anyone came within four metres of him. She exchanged a look with Phil, who nodded. He realised that Clint probably hadn't been in a room with so many people in an awfully long time, and the fact that the majority of the rooms occupants were unfamiliar, combat trained secret agents, the level of threat that he was registering must be driving him crazy.

He tapped Clint's shoulder to get his attention, and the boy flinched violently- Phil didn't miss the way his hand darted towards his hoodie pocket as if to draw a knife which wasn't there.

"Let's get out of here." He said quietly. Clint nodded.

They attracted a few stares leaving- Clint was probably the youngest person to be seen on the Helicarrier and somehow the rumours had not yet spread about him, and therefore no one seemed to know who he was. Then there was of course the striking yet unfamiliar woman beside him- although it wasn't unusual to see an agent walking around with a psychologist (due to the risky lifestyles of a SHIELD agent and the level of responsibility and secrecy they were entrusted with, it was vital to ensure that said agent was mentally stable), she was a child psychologist, and baring in mind all but a few SHIELD employees were at least twenty-two years old, the woman had not been seen before at the base.

Clint gradually calmed down as they put some distance between them and the busy canteen, but grew wary again as the ventured into an unfamiliar area of the Helicarrier. "This is the bridge." Phil explained. "SHIELD is run by Director Fury, and he wants to meet you."

Clint frowned. "Why?"

Phil smiled wryly. "There are several reasons. Mainly due to your unique recruitment procedure- he's heard a lot about you and wants to meet you in person. He thinks you have potential and would like to help you make your decision. But Clint," Phil stopped outside an opaque glass door, and looked at Clint seriously. "Please remember that this is _your_ decision, and we will back you whatever you decide to do."

Clint frowned again, and Phil knocked on the door. "Enter." Called a stern, deep voice from the other side.

Fury's office was walled with glass, enabling him a fantastic view of the rest of the bridge, though Clint doubted that people from outside could see in. A large, metal table stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by chairs. Fury stood with his back to the door, facing the bridge, his hands behind his back. He turned slowly, nodding at Phil and Jane. "Coulson, Griffin, dismissed."

Clint felt them both leave. "Barton," Fury added, "Sit down."

Clint sat down slowly- Fury was intimidating to say the least, and Clint found this irritating, as this was clearly the effect the man was aiming for. However he certainly didn't want Fury's first impression of him was to see an uneasy, intimidated seventeen year-old. Therefore he pushed his fear to the back of his mind, and pulled on his cool, blank mask of a facial expression.

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Nick Fury was a dark skinned man wearing a black leather trench coat and a black leather eye patch. He radiated power, authority and professionalism, and although Clint found him irritating, he also respected him strangely- this man meant business. He seemed to care for his agents, but didn't show it obviously or let his feelings get in the way.

Fury eyed Clint for a moment, and Clint stared back. Fury was somewhat impressed by the way the boy had shown his wariness for only a few moments before hiding his emotions. However, he couldn't hide everything entirely- Fury could see the fight-or-flight mindset in his body language. Barton was short, but had the wiry build of an acrobat, and stood in the stance of someone who could defend himself if needs be. He radiated subtle threat.

Then Fury sat on the other side of the table, and spoke. "Barton, I'm not here to mollycoddle you- Griffin can do that. And I'm not here to help you either, that's what Coulson is for. I'm just going to tell you the facts. You have two choices ahead of you- you walk away from your old life, and with the help of SHIELD you set up a new one. We will give you money and accommodation where we can keep an eye on you to make sure you don't do anything… foolish. You're only 17, Barton, you have plenty of time to start again. However, the question is this- with all you have seen and done, can you start again? This, only you can say.

The other option is to work for us. You will become an agent; work on missions with infiltration, impersonation, protection details, gathering Intel, assassinations and so on. You will be working for the good of this world, and you cannot do better then that."

Fury folded his hands on the table. "Barton, this is your choice to take. Your life has been pretty shit, from what I can gather, and either of these choices with offer you a way out. All you must do is chose between the two." He nodded. "There isn't a deadline for you to decide, but if you take more than a month I'll kick your ass. Thank you for your time, dismissed."

Jane and Phil were waiting outside, deep in conversation about the weather again, though Clint suspected they had been talking about something else, probably him. Phil smiled quickly at Clint. "Jane and I have a meeting with Fury now anyway, so why don't you go with Agent Sampson. He runs advanced training, and can show you the range if you'd like,"

Clint frowned slightly- he distinctly remembered being told to do no strenuous exercise for an entire week. But Phil seemed to read his mind. "Shooting isn't really the strenuous exercise Eric had in mind. As long as you don't go running all over the place or sparing, it should be ok." Clint shrugged acting nonchalant when in reality he was _aching_ to shoot again. Tchoverick had taken his bow, and Clint knew there was no getting it back now, but firing a rifle would still be good, though not quite as good.

Sampson turned out to be the mountain of a man leaning on the railing, looking down upon the bridge. Once the door closed behind Phil and Jane, he introduced himself. "Clint Barton? I'm Sampson, follow me."

Sampson was build like an English rugby player, with wide shoulders and muscles up to his ears. However he wasn't especially broad, and looked as if he could be nimble and agile if he needed to be. He was barely a foot taller than Clint, who was short anyway, but Clint couldn't help but admit that Sampson's hair was far more magnificent- it was nearly shoulder length, black, wavy and unrestrained. He looked like he had jumped straight out of the Middle Ages.

Clint was in a better state of mind to memorise the route this time, and they soon arrived at the range. It was a large, open room as long as a soccer pitch. It was sectioned off into lanes with a targets at the ends. The room was simply lit by the sunlight streaming through the ceiling, and although Clint had seen light switches beside the door, he couldn't actually see any lights.

"So, I hear you specialise in archery?" Sampson asked as they walked towards a metal, safe-like door on the other side of the room.

Clint glanced across at him, and then nodded.

"Well, we have an old recurve. It's not in the best of shape after Lord of the Rings came out…" Sampson sighed. He moved towards the metal door, typed in a code on the key pad it slid open. Beside him, Clint gasped.

The room within was not especially large, but every wall was lined with more projectile weapons that Clint had ever seen in one place.

Sampson laughed at Clint's reaction, and pushed him further in.

Clint walked around the room with what could only be described as childish awe. It was heavy with the wonderful scent of gun power, oil and metal.

"Pretty cool, hu?" Sampson appeared beside him, holding out the bow.

"Hell yeah." Clint mumbled, taking the bow from him.

"Try the bow out first, the maybe you can have a go at a couple of rifles, depending on when Coulson gets back." Sampson said, nudging the enthralled teenager out of the room.

Clint choose the lane furthest from the door so that he could see anyone coming in, and took the offered arrows from Sampson.

The bow was a composite recurve, made from multiple layers of fibreglass and wood. The string was a little frayed, and not as weighed as Clint would really like, but he would make do. Archery was his way of dealing with everything, and yet he hadn't shot his bow in a week, and during that week, everything had got so much more complicated.

_The wire tenses_

_Back muscles tighten and lock_

_Slow your breathing_

_Exhale _

_Relax your hand_

Release.

Arrow after arrow thudded into the target. He could vaguely feel Sampson watching him from the right, and once his mind was in a suitable state of calm, he began to think about what he was going to do.

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They sat with Fury on one side of the table, Phil and Jane on the other. In front of them lay Phil's report, which they had been pondering over for the last half an hour.

"I'm fully confident in his abilities. Even with blood loss and exhaustion he managed to break out of captivity from Ivan Tchoverick and beat his way through multiple guards. He's fast, has fantastic stamina, combat skills and advanced prowess in distance weaponry. The only thing I'm worried about is his mental health."

"We're looking at anger management issues, serious trust issues, possibly emotional detachment and depression- "_all I have to do is just have to kill what's left". _Jane frowned, concentrating furiously. "If he's going to get better, Clint has to trust us."

"How do we get him to do that?" Fury asked, now frowning as well.

"Don't threaten him, don't hurt him, and I'd strongly advice against physical contact. Once he knows we're not going to hurt him, the trust might begin."

"How is he going to spar if we can't make physical contact?" Phil asked warily.

"I wouldn't spar with him until he's comfortable with it. If he asks to spar, or if you ask him and he seems fine with it, then ok. But if he begins to look even slightly uneasy, stop- it might trigger a panic attack."

"How long do you reckon this will take?" Fury asked.

Jane bit her lip. "As long as it needs to. He's strong, and I don't doubt he has it in him to recover. But at the same time, he's been hiding all his emotions away for seventeen years. It's going to take him a while to even want to talk about everything, before he actually feels like he can trust us enough. And I suspect that it'll get worse before it gets better. Clint has an awful lot of things going on inside his head."

"So what do we do first?" Phil leaned forwards, resting his forearms on the table.

"He needs to trust us. And I also think he needs some sort of parental figure- he needs guidance, someone he can turn to, someone who can take the responsibility off his shoulders."

"Will he let us do that?" Phil asked.

Jane hesitated. "Eventually, I think so. But you've got to remember that all of his parental figures, Peter Moore, Barney, his father, Jacques- they've all harmed him in one way or another. It's going to take a while."

"He had a panic attack last night?" Fury asked

"Triggered by claustrophobia and heightened stress levels- in retrospect, it was not entirely unexpected. However I'd like to request him to move rooms." Jane added.

Fury nodded. "There's a free room a level up from the recruit accommodation. Move him there."

"And how are the council taking this?" Phil asked.

"It's a serious matter." Fury began gravely. "They're reluctant to forget Clint's criminal career, especially as I haven't yet given them your report."

"Why not?" Phil asked.

Fury paused. "Several reasons. I don't want anyone other than the people in this room knowing- you know how it goes. Suddenly the secret spreads even though those who knew it swear they didn't tell. Rumours begin and such- I don't trust the council not to spread it around. I don't trust the council full stop. Rumours throughout the base is one thing, but if it got outside… anything could happen. It's a weakness that can be exploited. And of course it's something very, very private. It's our business because we want to help him. But the council certainly don't- so why do they need to know?"

Jane nodded in agreement, and Phil asked, "But will they allow us to recruit him?"

Fury sighed, leaning back slightly. "It took a lot of persuading. But they've agreed that if Barton passes training and completes his missions well, he can stay. However they've demanded that, due to his age, he is given a guardian. For parental guidance and such."

Phil frowned. "What- like adopting him?"

Fury nodded. "Not legally, but effectively, yes. They also said that this person must be present on his missions until he reaches the age of twenty, which is the youngest age of a normal agent. It doesn't have to be down on paper."

Jane shrugged. "To a certain extent I can see the benefits. If he's given someone who understands the life of an agent it will be good for him to have this guidance- it doesn't seem to be something he has had before, but it will be good for him to have it."

"So… I wonder who would do it." Fury said slowly, glancing at Phil but looking away just as quickly.

Phil rolled his eyes. "That was as rhetorical as you can get. But I'll do it. Though this still depends on whether Clint wants to join SHIELD or not."

Fury actually smiled briefly. "Thank you. But come on- the kid is a natural, and we all know it. Anyway, Ma'am, Agent- Dismissed."

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Jane went back to her quarters, and Phil found Clint at the range.

Clint had taken up the lane furthest from the door, and Sampson was leaning on the wall to the right side of the room, watching with something akin to awe.

Kennedy's picture really hadn't done Clint's archery any justice. It was almost like dancing, so graceful and effortless. Knock the arrow, pull, and release. Knock the arrow, pull, and release, again and again. Clint had shot an arrow into the very centre of the bull's-eye, and shot a circle of arrows over each ring on the target. Each arrow was fired in a second, no time to ponder over whether it would hit the target where he wanted it to. It resulted in the colours of the target hidden behind a forest of arrow feathers. Once he had filled in one target, he had moved onto the next, and then the next one after that. Although Phil had only a little more than half an hour, Clint had managed to fill eight out of twelve targets.

Phil walked over slowly, but Clint didn't react until he was within two metres of him. His expression was empty, but not in his usual forceful way of pushing away all of his emotions. It simply looked as if Clint was almost perfectly relaxed.

Clint lowered his bow, and turned to look at Phil with an expression that was almost disappointment.

"How long will it take you to fill the rest of the targets?" Phil asked.

Clint glanced at his bow, calculating, then looked back up at Phil. "Less than fifteen minutes, maybe."

Phil nodded. "Well I can wait 'till then, as long as you don't mind me watching."

Clint actually flashed Phil the briefest of smiles, before turning back to his next target. This was the first happy expression Clint had actually shown, and it wasn't even forced.

Phil walked over to stand beside Sampson, after shaking his hand. "Good to see you." He said.

Sampson smiled. "And you." He jerked his head towards Clint. "Where the hell did you find this one? I've never seen such a shot. Those targets are 100 metres away and I reckon the distance between those arrows don't change by more than three millimetres."

Phil grinned. "If I told you, I'd then have to kill you."

Sampson laughed. "Fair enough. It doesn't matter where he'd been, I more want to know where he's going. How old is that kid? Can we even recruit them that young?"

"Technically, no."

Sampson raised an eyebrow wryly. "Oh yeah? What do the council think of all this? He clearly doesn't have the most… legal of pasts."

Phil frowned slightly. "What makes you say that?"

"They don't teach snipping at high school, Phil."

"Well, you're not wrong. But I trust him, even if the council don't."

Sampson nodded slowly.

"How's advanced training?" Phil asked. If Sampson recognised the abrupt change of subject, he didn't comment on it.

"Well, I got back two weeks ago, going back out about a month and a half from now. Those new recruits, damn, they never used to be that cocky. Think they know everything." Sampson shook his head slowly.

"And you put them back in their place, right?" Phil asked wryly.

Sampson smirked. "Right. Hell, they sure learn some respect after a month with me."

Phil raised his eyebrows. "I don't think I even want to know."

Sampson laughed. "I'm not doing anything outside the guidelines. I love my job- I get to take a load of cocky newbie's and chuck them into the Artic with nothing but a spoon."

Phil laughed. "Well, I can certainly see the appeal in that."

Sampson glanced at his watch. "Well, I'd better be off. If I come back here later to find arrows all over the place I'll kick both your asses."

He headed to the door, clapping Clint on the shoulder as he left, saying something to him. Clint looked up at the older man warily, and grinned slightly, nodding. He waited until the door closed behind Sampson, before turning to Phil. His expression was serious and intense. "I want to work for SHIELD." He said firmly.

Phil blinked, and then frowned. "You've decided already?"

Clint nodded.

Phil crossed his arms across his chest and leaned forwards slightly. "Why? What is the basis of your decision?"

Clint stared at Phil for a moment, and then licked his lips. "I… I can't be a normal person. That won't work. And…" He frowned deeply, and was silent for so long Phil didn't think he was going to speak at all. He stared at the floor, but when he looked back up, he looked straight into Phil's eyes with such an angry, determined, _desperate_ expression, Phil almost flinched. "I've got red on my ledger. I need to wipe it out."

Guilt was bleeding out of Clint's eyes, and Phil longed to comfort him but felt as if this wasn't the time, nor the place. "Do you want me to explain exactly what would happen to you if you were to become an agent?"

Clint nodded slowly.

"Ok… well firstly you would do basic training. This is to improve your combat and weaponry skills. As you don't have an education past fifth grade, you'll participate in basic learning- that's basically just general knowledge. Normally you're assigned to a team of other new recruits who are all overseen by a group handler, and then you get a personal handler who only looks over around five agents maximum after advanced training. But as you're only seventeen," Clint's expression darkened. "You need the extra guidance, so I'd be assigned as your personal handler and guardian as you enter basic training. You'll also have Jane Griffin as your psychologist, and she'll be working with me closely. When we both believe you're ready, we'll enter you for advanced training."

Clint frowned. "What's that?"

"Advanced training is where you spend a month away from base, using all the skills you've learnt during basic training. You participate in training exercises and at the end you'll be sent into a mission-like environment. You also have a general test and an IQ test. It's run by Agent Sampson, and if you pass it all, you become a full agent."

"How long will this all take?"

Phil hesitated. "Usually, it takes at least six months for a recruit to become and agent. But I think you have nearly all these skills already. If you do well in the basic learning, technically you could be entered for the next advanced training, which is about a month away. But I don't want to rush you. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Clint nodded, his expression intense with determination.

Phil looked cautious. "Alright. But I'm not finalizing anything until the end of this week at least, and then we'll start doing the paper work side of things."

Clint frowned. "Bit what am I going to do for the rest of the week?"

"Well, you may as well start basic learning. If you want, I can introduce you to Mrs Finch after lunch." Phil suggested.

Clint looked uncertain, and not entirely content, but nodded.

Phil smiled slightly. "Great." He gestured to the only remaining target. "Do you want to finish up here?"

Clint nodded, and the smile didn't quite show on his face, but flashed briefly across his eyes instead. As he lifted his bow again the emotion melted from his face until he was the picture of balanced calm once again.

After five minutes or so, the targets were full and Clint began to collect the arrows, Phil moving to help. A few moments passed, until Phil spoke to break the silence. "You're an amazing shot."

Clint looked up to stare at Phil incredulously.

Phil frowned. "What?" But Clint didn't respond, and continued to pull the arrows from the targets. "Was Jacques a good teacher?" Phil asked slowly- he wanted to get to know more about Clint, because although he knew a lot, he felt as if the knowledge was very thin. However, he didn't want to scare Clint off.

Clint was silent for a moment. "He taught me a lot. I learnt not to miss."

"Was he a hard worker?"

Phil wasn't looking at Clint, but he could almost sense the eye roll. "Yeah."

"Did you like him?"

Clint frowned deeply, and was silent for so long Phil didn't think he was going to answer. "No, I didn't like him."

"Why?" Phil asked cautiously. He turned just in time to see Clint shrug, and the teenager didn't say anymore.

After putting the bow and arrows back in the armory, Phil took Clint back to the canteen. The room was filling up fast and was beginning to get crowded, so they got lunch to go before heading back across the Helicarrier.

Phil lead Clint to a non-descriptive corridor lined with doors, one of which he unlocked. "This is your new room, OK?" He said, tossing Clint the key. The room was square, with a narrow bed lining the wall across from the door, a chest of draws at its foot and a bathroom beside it. Clint was happy with the layout, as it meant he would be able to see both doors whist in bed. It also had a window above the bed, making the room lighter and more airy.

"Do you like it?" Phil asked. Clint nodded.

Afterwards, the traipsed to the other side of the Helicarrier, which was much more empty and was used less frequently.

"We're going to meet Mrs Finch, who teaches basic learning. Also you can start this before you get cleared by medical, because the extra education will help you whatever you decide to do."

Beside him, Clint just nodded.

There was only one classroom on the Helicarrier, and it was situated at the very back of the aircraft so that the entire back wall was a long window. The wall facing the corridor also contained windows, so that Clint could see inside the room. At the front of the room was a desk and an interactive whiteboard, and facing the desk were singular tables. It the front desk sat a woman, concentrating hard on something in front of her.

Phil knocked on the door, and then entered.

Mrs Finch was probably around fifty years of age, her greying hair pulled into a tight bun. Her expression was serious, and strict, though not especially unkind.

Mrs Finch's eyes grazed over Phil as they entered the room, but settled on Clint, analyzing him with a piercing gaze. Clint stared back, emotionless.

"Clint Barton, I presume?" She asked, and her voice was as sharp was her features.

Clint glanced at Phil, who nodded, and then nodded himself.

"Good." She turned to Phil. "Coulson, come and get him at 2 o'clock."

Phil nodded at Clint, and then left, somewhat wary of leaving Clint alone with this intimidating woman.

Clint too, was feeling cautious. He reflected, as he sat at a desk in the front row- his immediate instinct was to retreat to the back, but he suspected Mrs Finch would not approve- that this situation was almost entirely unusual to him. He had only properly attended two to three years of education before everything began to go down hill- or more correctly, it began to go downhill at a faster rate than previously- and before long Clint had stopped attending school at all. And of course, there had been a lack of education at the circus. Clint, by no means believed he was intelligent, and was very worried that Mrs Finch would come down on him hard, discover that he was stupid and in some way punish him for it. No part of him even considered that Phil wouldn't let him get hurt, simply because no one had been there to protect him before, so he didn't even put Phil and safety together in his head. In fact, safety meant nothing to Clint.

Mrs Finch didn't seem completely oblivious to Clint's internal turmoil, and her expression softened marginally.

"Barton. Whether or not you decide to join SHIELD, some basic education will help you wherever you go. This course is designed to give you better knowledge of the world and how to live in it. During the course we will cover geography, politics, history, multiple languages and then some basic math, English and science. Let's start off with geography."

Clint was surprised to find this subject not too difficult, probably due to the fact that his career took him all over the world. At first Mrs Finch talked about the locations of the countries, but then the subject morphed slightly into politics, and she talked the government, different laws, beliefs and cultures, which lead to languages. For the first time aside from target practice, Clint didn't think of Moore, his father, Barney or Jacques for at least three hours.

At the end of the lesson Phil returned to find Clint half way through a test, recapping what he had learnt. He glanced across at Mrs Finch, but her expression remained neutral- she refused to judge a person's progress and intelligence until the end of the course, which was extensively irritating, but at the same time understandable. She didn't want to judge a book by its cover, or make an assumption when it could be incorrect.

Phil waited outside the classroom for five minutes or so to not put Clint off before he finished the test. Finally the kid straightened up, putting the cap back on his pen. "Good work Barton. I'll see you tomorrow, 10 o'clock, same place." Clint put his paper on her desk, and nodded, facial expression blank.

"How was it?" Phil asked once the door closed behind them. Clint shrugged.

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Hello! Thanks very much for reading. There wasn't exactly a lot of action during this chapter, but things will really begin to kick off during the next chapter as Clint comes into contact with a guy who he doesn't exactly get along with.

Please review, even if it's to say that you read the chapter- I love responses! Please check out my other fanfictions, and expect an update on Saturday, or Friday if you're lucky. Thanks, see you soon!


	3. Chapter 3

Warning- Language. Also I do not own the avengers.

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Clint arrived in the classroom the next day to find it full off people. His wariness immediately increased. There were five other people in the room, none of which Clint recognised. He seated himself in the far left corner of the room so that his back was against the wall, and tired to stay unnoticed.

And for the following week the lessons passed in a similar fashion. Clint would sit in the back corner, wary and quiet, working well and easily completing the tests yet not joining in the with class or answering any questions. Mrs Finch also realized that he was so incredibly good at staying quiet and still that the others often forgot he was there, even though he was in plain view. One on hand it was impressive, but mostly it was just alarming.

Phil met him outside the classroom once his lesson on Sunday was over as usual.

"Good lesson?" Phil asked. Clint shrugged.

Phil nodded, not expecting a different reply- this had been Clint's response to the question all week. "If you're sure you want to join SHIELD, I have some paper work for you to do." He said, heading back to his apartment.

Clint followed, and entered the room to find a small mountain of paperwork on Phil's kitchen table. Clint's shoulders visibly sagged, and Phil smirked. "Don't worry," He said, "It won't take long."

.

Either Phil's perception of "long" was completely different or he had been just plain lying, Clint reflected, and hour in. He had absolutely no idea what he was signing- at first he had attempted to read the documents, but as a carnie with no decent education past the age of eight, it could have been French and he would have understood it better. Literally, as he spoke French.

Phil had left Clint to it, and came back to find him passed out on the table, paper spread around him in a wide ark, his pen uncapped and leaking. Smirking, Phil walked over to wake him, but the teenager jerked upright once Phil had entered the room.

"Are you finished?" Phil asked, watching Clint carefully as the wariness and confusion died in his eyes as he remembered where he was.

Clint nodded.

"Good" Phil said. "Jane Griffin would like to see you."

Other than the unorthodox meeting on the Helicarrier deck and the following breakfast days ago, Clint hadn't seen Jane, though unknown to him, Phil had been passing on all of his behaviour to her.

Clint stood, looking wary. "Why?"

Phil led the way out, Clint following a respectable distance away.

"She just wants to talk." Phil replied.

"But _why_?" Clint almost demanded, annoyance beginning to surface in his eyes.

Phil hesitated. "She wants to talk to you to work out how you're feeling, and how to make you feel better."

Clint looked no less confused, but didn't speak again.

Jane was wearing a sleeveless brown shirt and light brown shorts that came to just above her knees. Her hair was tied up in a pony tail, with one braid trailing past her shoulder from behind her ear. She was barefooted, with a turquoise ankle bracelet on her left foot. Phil wondered vaguely how the psychologist managed to get away with such unprofessional clothing, but figured that as she wasn't technically a SHIELD employee, the uniform regulations didn't apply.

The woman was sat at her desk reading a file, but looked up and smiled as the door opened. "Hey Phil. Clint, come in."

Phil nodded at Clint. "I'll see you later."

Jane waited for the door to close behind Phil, and then turned to Clint. "Hey. Do you like board games?"

Clint stared at her blankly for a moment, hesitating. "I don't know."

Jane knew this was a very safe answer, and knew that this was precisely why Clint had chosen it. "That's fine. I have a massive selection, so we can try them and see if you like any. I know everything's been pretty crazy lately, so I want this to be your relaxing time, okay?"

Clint chewed the inside of his cheek, and nodded.

The next hour passed quickly, with scrabble, chess, checkers and monopoly. Jane had been a little worried that Clint would object to the games as some of which were childish. But at the same time she needed to give Clint a chance to have a childhood, which he certainly wouldn't get from the rest of SHIELD with the education and training, all of which were aimed to develop his skills as a successful agent, not to improve and maintain his mental well-being. However, Clint didn't object- though Jane was well aware that it was quite possible that he didn't do so as it was safer this way. Coulson's report had showed that somewhere along the line Clint had given up, and stopped fighting- the session, if anything, had only been embedding this fact.

Clint had been very wary at first, and had barely spoken as to not give anything away. His body language was closed off, tight and defensive, but as time passed, he seemed to relax marginally.

"Have you ever played chess before?" Jane asked as she set up the pieces again after loosing for the third time.

Clint was quiet for a moment as he set the pawns in a row. "We used to play at the orphanage."

"Did you win there too?"

Clint frowned. "Sometimes. I didn't play much."

"What did you do instead?"

"I don't know… I was out a lot."

"What did you do out?" Jane asked calmly as the game began again.

Clint paused, moved one of his pawns and then spoke again. "Into the woods, mostly. I liked to climb."

"Are you good at climbing?" Clint shrugged. "I really can't climb," Jane continued, "I don't like heights and I was so clumsy I'd fall nearly every time. Didn't you ever fall?"

Clint's expression darkened, and he stiffened. "Once. That wasn't at the orphanage though."

Jane was temped to push this further, but the last thing she wanted was for Clint to close up again.

"What other things do you like to do?"

Clint glanced up from the chess board, staring at Jane warily. It was almost as if he was weighing the risks of talking about himself. "Um, baseball, basketball. Soccer sometimes."

The game resumed in silence for a while, before Jane spoke again. "And how are you feeling about SHIELD?"

Clint tensed again, and then shrugged.

"You can talk to me if you're worried about anything, okay?"

Clint glanced up at Jane with an unreadable expression, and didn't speak again.

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The session finished half an hour later, and both participants left with mixed feelings. Jane was glad that she had finally began to build some sort of a relationship with Clint, but at the same time was surprised at how closed off he was. Not even once had he let anything slip, and everything he said was carefully thought out in order to not reveal too much about himself. Often Jane would ask a question that Clint didn't seem to want to answer, so he didn't- he just sat their in silence. Over the past hour and a half Clint had barely spoken half a dozen sentences. Even in the safe environment, Clint had barely let his guard down at all; noises in the hallway set him on edge and Jane had no doubt that Clint would have been ready to defend himself in an instant. To feel so wary and on edge every minute of every day must be exhausting.

After relaxing briefly, his wariness had escalated within Clint during the lesson. On once hand, it felt good to actually do something recreational again- for the last two years or so Clint's day had just been waking up early, if he had even slept, taking out the hit, packing and then leaving. On days without a target (which were surprisingly numerous) Clint just spent his time alert and on his guard, moving from place to place, barely sleeping, barely eating.

But the board games had brought back one of the few good memories from the orphanage. They had played games when Moore wasn't around, and this was probably the last time Clint remembered actually being a child, aside from the occasional games at the circus which had been few and far between. Besides, Clint had rarely joined in.

But at the same time, the other boys- Clint especially- had been on edge, waiting for Moore to return. More than once he had turned up in a middle of one of the games, during one of the painfully few times when Clint had let his guard down. By the time Clint had realised the man was there, it had been too late to run.

Therefore Clint had been on guard for the entire session, not just for Jane's questioning, but for Moore to walk in as well. He knew it was stupid- the guy had died years and years ago. But even so, Clint had learnt long ago that it was better to be safe than sorry.

Clint pushed these thoughts away and turned to another prominent problem. Since being moved from the cramped, damp recruit accommodation to the more spacious rooms a floor up, Clint had been getting glares and whispered remarks from his fellow recruits. Despite SHIELD's rumour problem, no one but Fury, Jane and Phil seemed to know why he had been moved. However the other agents and recruits had found out a about his choice of weaponry and realised that Clint had a somewhat shady past. To date, Clint had not yet been confronted on any of these matters, but the situation had become more widespread and serious. The whispers behind his back were no longer whispered, and the glares had become a whole lot more threatening. To say that Clint wasn't concerned over this would be a lie. Although he was aware that he could defend himself well enough against all of the recruits and many of the agents as well, he was still uneasy. A childhood of abuse had embedded a fear of being hit, yelled at or touched into his very character. His normal way of dealing with this would be to keep his head down low and stay out of the way. But making himself seem like less of a threat would only make himself seem like more of a target in this particular environment, and Clint had to go to the canteen, training rooms, the range and the classrooms. These places combined with the corridors made him an easy target- there was nowhere to hide, and it was driving him crazy.

Clint was pulled from his musings by a loud bang, and the door he had been opening slammed into his hand. Clint swore. The doors swung both ways, meaning that as Richard Green pushed it harder than Clint had been, it flew into the younger man.

Green smirked. "You greet your mother with that mouth?" Once discovering that Clint was only just 17, Green had been bombarding him with snide comments about his tender age. However, he had not yet commented on his family- specifically his mother.

Clint stiffened and bared his teeth. "Piss of." He spat.

Green openly grinned, and raised his eyebrows. "Hu. I hit a nerve."

It was only once he had walked by that Clint realised the full weight of his words. The bullying throughout his school years had taught Clint never to respond to and insult, as then the bully knew they had found something that had an effect. If this did happen, the only way to stop it was to hit back harder- physically, not verbally. Although Clint had not had a problem with this in the orphanage- fights had been frequent and accepted- he was doubtful that this would be quite accepted at SHIELD. All he could do was hope that Green would forget.

But he didn't. The comments didn't stop, and before long, Green's friends were joining in too. Richard Green was an agent of a wealthy age, recruited straight from university due to his athletic ability and intelligence. Although he had learnt boxing and martial arts, unlike many other agents, he had no military experience, or actually any experience of fighting anyone in the real world. He couldn't successfully hit anything that hit back.

From the very beginning Clint had highly disliked Green. He was loud and brash, he walked around like he owned the place and had countless followers despite his despicable personality. He was a rich kid with a perfect upbringing- he was given anything he wanted and never had to do anything for himself. Green had never known hardship. In that respect he was the complete opposite of Clint. And this was what Clint despised the most.

Phil, as deceptive as though he usually was, had not spotted the abuse Clint had been getting from other recruits. He had however, spotted the change in Clint's behaviour- the kid had been quieter and darker than before, there was more anger on top of his usual wariness. He spent more time shooting than previously, and unknown to Phil, Clint actually spent more time shooting than sleeping, as he sneaked into the range at night. Clint had two counselling sessions a week, and although Jane had also seen the change in Clint, she was stumped as to what was causing it. It wasn't unusual for Clint to not speak at all during the sessions.

Exactly two weeks after his arrival, Clint returned to medical to be cleared. Eric ran through the usual things, checking Clint's mobility, fitness and eyesight. And then it came to his hearing.

"It's been decided that it wouldn't be safe for you in the field with hearing damage . Even with internal aids and such, it would be hard to fit a comm. and it would just be a weakness for your opponents to exploit." Phil said, leaning on a counter across from Clint, who was sitting in a chair. Eric sat to the side, quiet at first, but then spoke. "We did some tests while you were out after you came in, and the results were good. We reckon we can give you internal implants to fix your hearing. This means comms will be fine- and headphones, so you can listen to music. They'll be nearly entirely undetectable, invisible from X-rays, gamma rays and ultra sound, nearly impossible to break. Once they're in, you won't be able to feel them- they won't negatively affect your everyday life at all. We'd have to put them in with an operation but the recovery time will be fast." Eric hesitated, glancing at Clint. The boy had been entirely emotionless until Phil had mentioned his hearing being a weakness. Now fury shone through the shattered walls that sealed his emotions away from the outside world. "But it's not urgent. As long as we do it before you go for advanced training, we don't need to rush. It's just something I want you to think about." Eric turned away from Clint and got a needle out of the draw behind him. He ripped off it's plastic packaging. "Now we just need to do a blood test, and then you're free to go."

Everything inside Clint froze. His vision tunnelled in on the needle in Eric's hand, glinting in the sunlight streaming through the window. He could hear Tchoverick's harsh Russian tones winding its way back through his memory, and suddenly the medical room looked all too familiar. The chair in the corner seemed almost identical to the one in Paris, aside from the lack of feet and wrist restraints. The walls were white, too white, and suddenly everything was all too bright and crowded. Eric stepped forward, beckoning, and the fear inside Clint seemed to explode.

Phil saw the change in Clint as soon as he saw the needle. It wasn't the usual type of fear Phil had seen, not the pale complexion or the shaking. It was more of a primeval fear, a kind of fear that seemed as if it had been there the whole time, and had only just resurfaced. Fear could really be of anything, and it could be irrational- spiders, insects, heights. But this wasn't a simple fear of needles. No, something had clearly happened to Clint to make him so afraid of them. Everything about Clint was screaming _run, run, run_. Phil saw him tense, crouch slightly and he realised what the boy was going to do just before he did it. It was only because of this that Phil managed to catch him.

Clint bolted for the door, but Phil managed to catch his arm before he reached it. He looped his other arm around the boy's waist, and used his greater weight to force him to the ground. Clint shoved Phil away, pushed his back up against the wall, pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on back, wrapping his arms around his chest. His breathing slowed until Clint almost seemed asleep. But his eyes were open, staring at the opposite side of the room.

Phil crouched down in front of him, "Clint?" There was no response. Even when Phil laid his hand on the kid's shoulder, he didn't even flinch.

_Sometimes he'd just go into these moods, and he'd sit somewhere quiet and not move for hours and hours._

"Shit." Phil turned quickly to Eric, who was standing behind him looking shocked and confused. "Get me Jane Griffin, and fast. Also I need to move him to a different room." Phil wasn't sure of the trigger had just been the needle, or something else in the room as well.

"Go next door into my office." Eric said, and then he was gone.

Phil lifted Clint up bridal style, and the kid didn't react. Thankfully there was no one in the corridor, and they made it into Eric's office unseen. Once inside, Phil sat Clint on the floor again, his back against the wall. "Clint?" He said softly, but there was nothing. Phil sat beside the teenager and waited.

Jane appeared a moment later, and Phil was relieved to see how calm she looked. She knelt down in front of Clint, but turned to Phil instead. "What happened? Yale is hard to understand."

Phil swallowed, glanced at Clint, and then spoke. "He was getting cleared by medical. Everything had gone fine until Eric told him about getting implants for his ears. He looked angry, but didn't do anything. Then Eric got out a needle and said that they needed to do a blood test. Clint completely freaked. He froze and went for the door but I caught him and pushed him to the ground. He didn't really struggle; he just sat down and didn't move. He doesn't seem to hear me either."

Jane nodded slowly. "Do you think it's what Kennedy talked about?"

Phil nodded back.

"It's something I've come across a couple of times before. It's a coping technique. When faced with something they do not want to face, or something they can't deal with, the person almost… retreats inside them self. Something triggers memories or flashbacks and to cope with it, Clint hides. If he can't physically hide, he'll do it like this. It's a form of emotional detachment"

"When will it stop?"

"There's no way we can force him out of it. He'll have to do it out of his own accord, and he'll only do that once he feels safe."

"But Clint never feels safe." Phil said worriedly.

"Not at the point that he's at now. But if we bring back a childhood memory where he felt safe- or at least safer- that might work. I want to take him to my office."

Phil nodded slowly. "How are the corridors?"

"Pretty much deserted."

Phil picked Clint up and they made it back to Jane's office unseen again. Phil put him down on the floor beside the couch. Jane disappeared into the cupboard on the other side of the room, and came back with a book.

"What's that?" Phil asked, frowning.

"Harry Potter." Jane replied.

"Well it's a great book, but why?"

"Someone at some point in Clint's childhood might have read to him. And even if they didn't, your report said that Clint read to himself. And reading a book is very similar to Clint's coping mechanism- you go into somewhere else because wherever you are is too hard to deal with." Jane sat on Clint's left side, Phil beside her. "Trust me." She said, opening the book.

_Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense..._

_._

Harry was boarding the Hogwarts express when Clint finally stirred. He blinked slowly, rubbing his eyes with his fist. "Mom?"

Jane put down the book and swallowed. "No," She said quietly. "It's just me."

"Oh." Clint's shoulders sagged, and for once, he just sounded plain sad.

"Did your mom use to read to you?"

"Once." Clint said, yawning and rubbing his eyes again. Jane wasn't sure whether to press this point, but Clint ended up doing it for her.

"Jane?" He said quietly, suddenly sounding far younger.

"Yes?"

"I didn't fall."

Jane took a moment to remember what he was referring to. "Well what did you do?"

"I jumped."

"You jumped out of the tree?" She questioned, not entirely certain where this was going. Phil sat beside her in bewilderment.

"No, I jumped out of the window." Clint sounded cautious, almost as if he wasn't certain if he should tell her or not, if it mattered or if she even cared. If something bad would happen if he did.

"Why did you jump out of the window?" Jane asked slowly.

Clint was silent.

"Clint, nothing bad is going to happen if you tell me. If anything, you might feel better for getting it out."

Clint was silent for a moment more, and then he spoke. "Dad was chasing me and I ran upstairs. I was going to hide under the bed but I was too slow and he was close behind. I was scared. He was coming towards me so I climbed onto the window sill. I knew it would hurt but I figured that it would hurt less than if he caught me. I was wrong though."

"Were you injured?" Jane asked soothingly.

"I broke my ankle."

"What did your dad tell the doctors?"

"He said I fell." Clint looked up at Jane. "But I didn't. I didn't fall."

"Where was your mom?"

"Out. She came to visit me in hospital though."

"Was that when she read to you?"

Clint nodded.

"Did you jump through the glass?"

"Yeah. It was thin, not double glazing. It was easy to break… I kicked a football through it once."

"Was your dad angry then?"

Clint didn't answer, but then again, Jane didn't need him to.

"I'm sorry these things happen to you, Clint. But you can tell us about them, Phil and I. We'll always listen, and we'll help in any way we can."

Clint didn't reply again, but his eyes drifted closed. Slowly, Clint lowered his head onto the side of the couch. And then he slept.

.

.

Clint woke in a state of panic. He couldn't recall exactly what the nightmare had been about, but it was certainly to do with falling. And needles. His dreams usually fell into two categories- the ones were that genuine events, and then ones that were mixtures of genuine events, making them even more horrific than usual.

Clint never had good dreams. And he rarely slept without dreaming. However if he had to choose which dreams were worse, it would certainly be the genuine ones. After having those, he couldn't simply wake up and tell himself they weren't real.

Although Clint usually snapped into full consciousness within seconds after waking, today his mind remained bewildered and sleepy. His vision was blurred and his befuddled mind couldn't piece together where he was. His blankets tangled round his legs, a sinister parallel to being tied down in his dream. His panic build as he was unable to work himself free, and he thrashed around against the bonds.

Suddenly the couch lowered slightly and he felt a hand upon his shoulder. "Easy, you're ok. It was just a dream."

It was only at this moment that Clint realised how calm and reassuring Phil could be. Subconsciously, he felt his heart beat slow and he relaxed as much as his paranoia would let him.

Phil waited until Clint's eyes focused on him before speaking. "Do you want to get something to eat?"

Clint frowned, and then spoke. "I want to have a shower. I'll meet you down there."

Phil looked at him, calculatingly. "Are you sure you're ok?"

Clint smiled. "Yeah, I feel fine."

Phil smiled back and clapped him on the shoulder. "Great. I'll see you later."

Clint nodded, and got up to leave. Only once his back was turned did he let the smile fall. His early childhood had shaped Clint into a fantastic liar. He knew that if anyone ever found out what Moore or his father were doing to him, the punishment he would receive would be far, far worse than whatever they were doing in the first place. And so he had developed the perfect fake smile, the perfect fake laugh. After a while the facade had become too hard to keep up, but the skills he had learn remained, and came in useful now.

Clint wasn't ok. Phil and Jane thought that once Clint talked about whatever had happened, he would feel better. What they had forgotten was that the emotional trauma Clint had suffered had mostly all been connected. Remembering his mother had only brought up a flood of other memories he had fought to forget. But with the trouble from Green and his friends, doubled up with actually _talking_ about his mother the night before had become overwhelming. Suddenly he felt crowded and panicky. The dream had also come flooding back to him with horrible clarity. When running from his father he had jumped from the window and broken his ankle. He had tried to run after finding Barney and Moore in the garden bellow, but couldn't due to his foot. Then Tchoverick had appeared, and he couldn't run from him either.

Even the icy shower couldn't wash away the memories of the needles.

.

By the time he reached the canteen, Clint was feeling dark and unstable. His anger had almost vanquished his fear, leaving him feeling dangerous and wild.

Clint was making his way over to the far corner when someone shoved him from behind. He turned to find himself facing Richard Green.

"So, Barton. I decided that as you get treated like such a special boy it'd be a good idea to beat you in front of all these people so they can see what a child you really are."

Green really couldn't have chosen a worse time to tease him. But Clint didn't want to hurt him- well, he did, but he didn't want these people to see the crazy, lethal assassin that he actually was. During their last session, Jane had attempted to teach him a way to deal with his anger. Clint tried to block out Green and began to count.

_One _

"I was thinking about doing this when no one else was around, but where's the fun in that? There aren't many people here but I reckon if I make it good enough it'll be spread all _over_ the Helicarrier..."

_Two_

"See I really don't like you, Barton. I don't see why you're so different from us- wait, maybe I do. You're a crazy head case."

_Three_

"Crazy street kid."

_Four_

"But if you're so hard, why don't you hit me? Barton? Barton, look at me."

_Five_

"Can't you even meet my eye? Coward. Pussy."

_Six_

"You don't seem special to me. After all, you're just a kid."

_Seven_

And then Green brought out the finale. "I don't think you should even be here, Barton. Shouldn't you be at home with your mommy-"

Something inside Clint snapped.

.

Phil entered the canteen in time to see Clint dive onto Richard Green. There was absolutely no precision to his punches and kicks, but within moments Green was on the ground, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth. Due to the messy hits, Green was able to flip Clint onto his back, and send his fist into his stomach. The older man was at least a foot taller, but Clint's sheer anger alone allowed him to turn the fight around again.

Green was on his back once more, but some point among the fists and knees and elbows, he stopped struggling, and was reduced to curling into a ball to protect his head.

Phil was upon them within seconds, hauling Clint away from Green by his elbows, then wrapping his arms around his waist. Although the boy was at least half a head shorter, Phil felt as if the anger was literally radiating off him in waves. With this anger Clint wriggled and thrashed, trying to twist himself free. He was strong too, and if his moves had been more precise and he wasn't blinded by anger, he almost certainly would have escaped.

A crowd was beginning to build, and Phil knew he had to get Clint out, and fast. Phil twisted one of Clint's arms behind his back- he hated himself for doing it, but needed the extra control as Clint's struggling intensified. He began to push him towards the door, which was difficult, but not overly so as all of Clint's effort was going into trying to escape Phil's arms instead of stopping his exit. The door was opened by none other than Eric Yale, who glanced at Clint and Phil, then jumped into action. Phil was yet again thankful for the doctor's level headedness

Eric helped pull Clint out of the room. "In here," He panted, nodding towards a door leading to a small storage room.

The room was full off shelves, which Eric pushed out of the way to get some floor space. "Put him here," He said, "And then tie his hands and feet."

"I thought you weren't meant to restrain someone?"

"That's for fits. I knew you never listened to the first aid courses. At the moment he's an equal amount of danger to us as to himself, so if we don't restrain him, he's going to hurt someone or get hurt."

Phil nodded. He hooked his foot behind Clint's left leg, and used his weight to slowly push the boy to the floor. He then put his knee on Clint's chest to keep him down, pushing his hands down on either of his shoulders. Eric had found some duck tape, and began to tape his hands to the radiator, and his feet to a table.

Clint began to struggle even harder, trying to drive his knees into Phil's sides but was unable to as his legs were pulled out straight.

"**Let go!** _LET ME GO!_ GET OFF GET OFF GET OFF!" Clint screamed, twisting frantically.

"Clint listen to me-"

"LET GO!"

"Clint, listen."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Clint, calm down, and then I'll let go."

"GET OFF ME!"

"I will get off, just listen to me."

"_Get off_!" Clint's sheer anger grew no less intense, but instead began to take a different approach. After realising that Phil and Eric weren't going to release him, he put more of an effort into getting free by himself. He tugged furiously at the tape around his hands, trying to pick at it with his nails.

"It's not going to come undone, Clint." Phil said firmly. "And I'm not letting you go until you calm down."

Clint ignored him. He was pulling his hands so hard the tape was digging into his wrists and the radiator was shaking. He tried to free his feet with such a renewed effort the table scrapped along the floor. Eric pushed his back up against it to stop it moving, but only just succeeded.

"Calm down Clint." There was a slight edge to Phil's voice now. "If you keep struggling all we're going to do is tape you down even more."

"Let me go." Clint spat. He was no longer screaming, but his voice held just as much fury. "You had better fucking let me go Coulson."

He tugged his wrists again, but this time he did it so furiously, that to Phil's horror, the tape began to tear. Eric reached for the roll of duck tape again but Phil waved him off.

"Clint, stop pulling. I'm going to cut you free." Phil realised restraining Clint had done nothing more than make him angrier, and Phil had no idea how much damage he could do if he broke free with this building rage.

Clint didn't react- he didn't seem to be listening to anything Phil was saying anymore. He pulled again, and the rip in the tape grew.

Phil swore under his breath, and pulled a penknife out of his pocket. Clint caught sight of the blade and jerked away. "_Leave me the fuck alone!_" He yelled.

Phil ignored him, and moved to cut the tape. Clint's struggling intensified and Eric moved forwards to hold him still, meaning that he had let go of the table. The table slid towards them. Phil managed to rip the tape of Clint's hands, and then he and Eric jumped back quickly. Clint tore it off his feet and scrambled to the other side of the room. He pressed his back against the wall, looking wild, trapped and angry. His eyes darted from Eric to Phil, and the latter was worried about making Clint claustrophobic. "Stay outside the room. Catch him if he runs but only come back in if I say." Phil said quickly to Eric, without taking his eyes Clint. Eric obeyed. Clint tensed as the door opened and made as if to run, but glanced at Phil again, and seemed to decide against it. He watched the door close almost longingly.

Phil watched Clint warily. His anger seemed too had died a little. He now seemed apprehensive, with his back to the wall, eyes darting from the walls to the ceiling and back to Phil again.

"You're not leaving until you tell me what happened." Phil said firmly. Clint flinched as he spoke, and his hands curled into fists.

"You had better not make me angry again." Clint said darkly.

"It wasn't me that made you angry, was it?" Phil asked calmly. "What did Richard Green do?"

Clint was silent for a moment. "Nothing." He said firmly. "He didn't do anything."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Nothing? You want me to believe that? So you attacked him without provocation, did you?"

Clint gritted his teeth. "Believe whatever you want to believe." Clint snapped. "I don't care. I'm not telling."

"Did he do something to you?" Phil asked. "Because if he did, then why can't you tell me? If you had a reason for attacking him like that then I'd like to know it."

Clint remained silent.

"I can't make you tell me, Clint. But I'd sure like to know why you'd hurt someone that suddenly and that badly." Phil said slowly. "I'd like to know what the reason was. Because I'm pretty sure you're not one to hurt someone for no reason. To hurt someone innocent and defenseless."

Phil had pushed the right buttons. But at the same time, he didn't like the results. He watched an astounding amount of guilt and self loathing cloud Clint's features as he put the connection between what he had just done and what his father did.

Clint shook his head vigorously. "It wasn't like that." He said, his voice shaking. "I had a reason."

"I'd like to know that reason." Phil said slowly, keeping eye contact.

Clint inhaled uneasily, shaking his head more slowly. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

Clint shook his head again, running his hands through his hair. "I can't. I can't, it's- it's against the rule."

Phil frowned- this hadn't been the answer he had been expecting. "Rule? What rule?"

Clint shuddered, and couldn't meet Phil's eyes. "The rule- Don't tell."

Phil sighed. He knew what rule this was. And now he was asking Clint to break it, a rule that had been beaten into him literally from the beginning. Don't tell. The punishment for telling will be so much worse than what was being done to you in the first place. "Clint, you can break the rule, it doesn't matter-"

"Don't. Don't ask me because I can't tell you, I'm not _allowed_ to tell you and I _won't_ tell you." Clint insisted, looking horrified.

"Clint, you can trust me." Phil said desperately.

"Please don't make me think about it. Please stop asking." And suddenly Clint sounded all too much like Jason. And the principle was the same- they both had a secret and both refused to talk about it when asked. But Clint was so much further gone than Jason.

Phil sighed. "Ok." He said in defeat. "Ok. But if you feel like talking…" Phil opened the door and let Clint out first. He didn't finish because Clint was already walking away, body language closed off and tired. Clint wasn't going to tell him anything yet, that much was painfully obvious.

"What the hell was that all about?" Eric asked once Clint had turned a corner.

Phil shrugged hopelessly. "I really have no idea."

Phil had made a mistake. He had forgotten that Clint wasn't just scared- he was pretty damn angry too.

.

.

.

Drama. So hello wonderful readers! This chapter was intense to write. But I really wanted to show the other side of Clint, not the scared little child but the crazy, angry assassin. Because Clint isn't completely vulnerable, he can most certainly hold his own if he wants to.

If you can't remember (it was a pretty long time ago) Jason was the boy from the orphanage in Too Far Gone.

So, thank you for reading! I'm going away for about ten days soon, so I'm trying to reward you with more frequent updates- if you're lucky, I'll publish something tomorrow, but I'm not sure whether I'll be able to because I'm having a back to back Harry Potter night. (Yes this is what I am doing with my life. Too be fair I'm having it with some other people- I'm not nerding out on my own).

Anyway, I'm going off on a tangent. So thank you! Please review because I love reviews more than cake. Even if it's just to say that you've read the chapter- that would be absolutely wonderful. And thank you for all the reviewers from the last chapters!

Thanks again, see you soon :)


	4. Chapter 4

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Another week passed uneasily. Clint Barton's crazy attack on the rich, "popular" Richard Green soon spread around the Helicarrier , but not exactly as Green had planned. Apparently there were some other people who despised him, as the talk was more about Green's epic defeat than Clint being a violent maniac. For the time being, Green and his friends left Clint alone. When the two of them passed in the corridors, Clint steadily ignored the holder man whist Green stared at the floor, trying to stay unnoticed. Maybe of the other recruits also stayed at a distance, with even more fear than before.

Clint hated it. He spent far too much time fearing people stronger and better than him, and would never want someone to be put in the same situation, even if they were someone as despicable as Richard Green.

Phil thought that the guilt was a heavier in Clint's eyes. Part of him regretted comparing Clint to his father, but at the same time it had stopped the teenager running a crazy riot around the base. But on the other hand, Phil knew about how Clint felt about Green's reaction, and knew that his words had only made it worse. Phil hadn't actually seen a lot of his younger charge, but when he did, Clint wasn't just quiet- he nearly was silent. More often than not he didn't reply at all to Phil's questions, and although he didn't seem quite as angry- Phil supposed the fight had enabled him to let off some steam- he never met Phil's eye anymore, and as insignificant as though it seemed, it worried Phil.

Clint's education progressed and his faultless performance didn't differ. However, neither did his silence, and lack of contribution. He remained quietly wary of the rest of the class, the teacher included. But this meant that it was only the more traditional part of his training that Clint was lacking- the skills actually needed for being a spy such as weaponry, hacking and of course combat. Although Phil was wary about taking Clint's training to the next level, the days after the fight did show a more positive change in Clint's behaviour- he seemed a lot less angry, and it was his growing anger that had got him in the mess in the first place. Phil knew that it was better to keep Clint busy, but if Clint only spent his days doing four hours of studying, he wasn't being kept very busy at all. Therefore, against his heart of hearts and Jane's warnings, Phil decided to spar with Clint.

Three days after the fight Phil met Clint in the canteen, not dressed in his usual suit and tie but cargo pants and a t-shirt. Clint glanced at him briefly before returning his concentration to his breakfast.

Phil was glad to say that today Clint only eyed him with slight apprehension instead of open wariness. However, the boy still very rarely looked him in the eye, and even more rarely responded to his comments in more than a few words. Instead, he looked at Phil as if he didn't quite make sense.

"So," Phil said, digging into his porridge (quite literally digging- SHIELD's catering hadn't quite mastered the art of making porridge that wasn,t classed as adequate building material). "I've talked to Eric, and he says that you're fit enough to start training, if you want."

Clint eyed Phil with an unreadable expression before looking down again. "What sort of training?"

"Well we need to train you in lots of different aspects such as agility, strength, stamina and so on. But if you want, today we can start combat training."

Clint looked wary. "What will I do?"

Phil glanced at the porridge, and clearly decided that he had enough of its cement like viscosity. "Come down to training room two, and I'll show you."

Phil left, throwing his breakfast into the trash. It hit the bottom with an ominous clang, and Clint stared at his handlers retreating back with growing apprehension.

.

Clint entered the training room five minutes later wearing navy athletic shorts and a gray SHIELD issue t-shirt. He looked apprehensive. Phil was already waiting on the mat.

Training room two was large and airy, with a climbing wall on the wall to the left of the door. The opposite wall was made entirely of glass, and showed a fantastic view of the sea. To the right were the changing rooms and the armoury.

"Ok, firstly I want to know what you can and can't do, so I figured we'd start sparing first." Phil explained once Clint had approached.

After a quick warm up, Phil and Clint put on sparing gloves and stepped onto the mat.

To say that Clint was nervous would be an understatement. On one hand, he was fairly confident in his own abilities. However, Clint didn't exactly like getting beaten up. Not only was it painful, but baring in mind his debatable mental stability of late, he was worried about triggering some form of panic attack. He was also far warier around Phil than before- the man had duck taped him to a table, trapped him in a room and took out a knife in front of him. Clint certainly didn't want to add being beaten up to the list. But at the same time, he didn't even consider refusing- he wasn't allowed to look like a coward.

"Before we start, if you want to stop at any point for _any_ reason, just say, ok? I'm not going to hit you hard, and I won't hold you to the ground. Ready?"

Clint had a feeling that Phil had been following his wary train of thought. He nodded.

Clint sank into a defensive position, hands in front of his face, one foot in front of the other. And then Phil attacked.

Phil had seen Clint fight before, but this was something entirely different. He seemed to use multiple different martial arts, switching from one to the other smoothly, blending them all together, one move to the next without fault. He used his circus training also, his amazing feats of agility, springing and flipping out of the way, somersaulting and rolling. His fantastic sense of balance kept him upright for around eight minutes, as he rocked back into his heels whenever Phil made a particularly powerful hit.

But at the same time, there was a frantic, messy street-fighter air about him. Clint seemed oblivious to the hits Phil was getting in, wanting to get the fight over with and make a run for it. Phil supposed that this was related to his childhood- when whoever was attacking Clint as a child, the boy hadn't wanted to beat the man into oblivion. All he'd wanted was to get him down and make a run for it, to get out of the situation as quickly as possible. And this then reflected on his currant fighting style. Clint had no desire to make the fight longer than it had to be. He only fought for the moment, instead of thinking ahead and planning a number of moves that would bring him out on top. Instead he used whatever he had at the time, putting himself at increasingly greater risks to simply get out and get away. He was terribly impulsive. Phil knew that he would have to change this to develop Clint into a better fighter, though at the moment, he wasn't sure how.

Phil caught Clint's forearm, hooked his foot behind the archer's knee and twisted. The boy hit the mat with a thud. He winced, and then looked up at Phil warily for a reason that the older man couldn't quite decipher.

Phil held out his hand to help Clint get up, but the boy rolled lithely to his feet on his own. "Do you want to go again?" Phil asked.

Clint nodded, his expression now unreadable.

And so it began again. Although Phil saw countless places where he could have brought Clint down, in order to prolong the fight he didn't take them. Therefore this bout was longer, and although Phil could feel himself beginning to tire, Clint looked even more energized that before. The transaction from one move to the other became even slicker, so that they didn't even look like separate hits, just one long one, almost like a martial arts pattern. It was almost beginning to look graceful, which had never been a word Phil thought he would use to describe someone's fighting style. And yet it was- Clint was strong, but despite his prowess in archery, there were many men stronger. Therefore he had learnt to use his agility, speed and extensive circus training to his advantage. On one hand this was fantastic, and would make Clint's training far easier as he was already a brilliant fighter. But Phil couldn't help wondering how much Clint had endured to become so good.

At this, Phil brought Clint to the ground again with a kick to his solar plexus. Clint rolled onto his shoulders and then sprang back up to his feet, a new, alarming edge to his expression. Phil noticed that his time, Clint was careful to hide his pain despite the fact that the kick would have hurt more than how Phil had brought him down previously.

"Again?" Phil asked warily, almost hoping that the boy would decline. But he didn't.

And it began again. But Phil could see a different edge to the fight this time. Clint's moves became messy, more frantic and rushed. The style became more like a street fighter, strong and viscous, a style meant to take the opponent down as fast as possible with no thought for the fighter. Phil began to get in more and more hits, and Clint turned from a mix of offence and defence to just pure attacking. It was now that Phil could see the eight year old at the orphanage, getting into fights and becoming an angry shadow of his previous self. Phil could see the franticness in Clint's eyes, the voice inside his head screaming _get out get out!_

Knowing that he had to end the fight fast, Phil swept his leg under Clint's feet, pushing the boy to the mat by his shoulders.

Too late, he realised his mistake. Phil was on top of Clint for just a moment too long. Fear broke out over Clint's features, and he kicked Phil in the stomach, sending the older man flying off him.

They both stumbled to their feet at the same time, Phil with his arms raised to show he meant no harm, and Clint with his fists clenched, body language closed off and a moment away from bolting to the door.

Phil took a step further away from Clint. "Clint," He said quietly. "Clint, it's ok." Phil had been all too aware that sparing may freak Clint out due to his father, but he had entirely forgotten about Peter Moore.

Clint clenched his jaw, eyes fixated on Phil's face. This was the first proper time he had looked Phil in the eye. His expression was a mixture of fear, desperation and anger, though the fear was most prominent. His breathe was coming out on short and shallow gasps.

"Clint, I'm not going to hurt you." Phil stopped three feet away from his younger charge, watching as the mixed emotions in Clint's eyes descended into simple, pure panic. "Clint, I promise I won't hurt you. I'm not going to hurt you Clint."

Clint took another hesitant step towards the door, and Phil was all too worried that the boy would run.

"Clint I know what Peter Moore did to you, but please understand that I would never, _ever_ do that. Do you understand?" Wary that Clint was either going to hyperventilate or run- or both, Phil took a step closer. "It's ok Clint. It's all gonna be ok."

Clint took another step back.

"Clint, you're ok. Breathe, you're safe."

Clint shuddered, flinching as Phil took another step towards him.

"Clint, it's ok. No one can hurt you here, you're safe."

Gradually, the panic began to lesson in his eyes.

"I'm not going to hurt you Clint." Phil said quietly.

Clint shuddered again, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes almost as if he could force the fear out.

"Come and sit down." Phil said softly. He walked past Clint and sat down at a bench at the side of the room. Clint didn't move. He stared at Phil, trying to work out whether he was lying, whether the man would hurt him. But there was nothing but honesty. Once more, Clint wondered how on earth Phil Coulson worked. He really did make no sense.

Clint sat a good two feet away, but accepted the water bottle Phil offered him. Phil saw his hands shaking as the boy took a drink. Once more, he was hit with a pang of sympathy and anger. Peter Moore should be thankful that he was dead- otherwise he might have run into Phil Coulson, who had a few things to say.

"You're a very good fighter." Phil said, trying to take both his and Clint's minds of Moore.

Clint glanced across at Phil. He hadn't yet managed to put up his mental walls, and Phil could clearly see the fear and vulnerability.

"Who taught you?" Phil asked, pushing away his anger.

Clint looked away from Phil, unable, once again, to keep eye contact for too long. He ran his thumb over the ridge around the centre of the water bottle, frowning. "Life." He said simply and without bitterness. "And one time in China instead of taking money for the hit I got the guy to speak to another guy who got me a couple of Kung Fu lessons. I was fed up of being beaten up so bad."

"Did you get beaten a lot?" Phil asked. Clint was unscrewing then screwing up the bottle lid repeatedly. He didn't reply, but then again Phil didn't need him to.

"Didn't you need more than a few lessons?" Phil asked, changing the subject slightly.

Clint was silent for a moment, and then shook his head slowly. "I already knew how to fight ok; I just built what the guy taught me on top of what I already knew."

"How old were you?" Phil asked cautiously.

Clint was quite for a very long time- so long that Phil was sure he wouldn't answer. "Fifteen." He said emotionlessly.

Phil took a moment to get his own emotions under control, and knew better than to comment on this. "Was he a good teacher?"

Clint nodded slowly. "He was a nice guy. Spoke no English but had a good sense of humour. He taught me some Chinese too, even though that wasn't part of the deal. He was a better teacher than the Swordsman."

"Was Jacques a bad teacher?" Phil asked, surprised when Clint flinched slightly at the name. The boy just nodded.

"Why?" Phil asked slowly.

Clint clenched his hands into fists, his shoulder hunched slightly. "He didn't like it when I missed. So I learnt not to miss."

"Did he get angry like you dad?"

Clint frowned, and his expression intensified. "Yeah, but I could take it."

Phil sat up straighter. "Yes, but that doesn't mean you _had_ to take it."

Clint looked perplexed. "What?"

"Just because your father and whoever else beat you doesn't mean you deserved it." Phil said firmly.

Clint looked absolutely bewildered. "Well of course I deserved it. Why would they do it if I didn't deserve it?"

Phil stared at Clint for a moment. "Clint… basically all these people did what they did because they were not nice people. They were angry and bad- it wasn't because you did anything wrong."

Clint stared at Phil like he was speaking ancient Greek.

"Clint, if there's one thing out of all the things that I tell you that you take to heart, remember this- you never deserved what you got. OK?"

Clint frowned slightly, fists clenching again, looking confused and as if someone had just pulled the world from under his feet. He also looked somewhat overwhelmed. Phil was all too aware that he was bombarding Clint with too many new things. But at the same time, not even once had he thought that Clint believed he _deserved_ what he got- what could a child ever do to deserve that much abuse?

Phil glanced across the room, trying to sort out his own emotions. Suddenly he grinned as an idea struck him. He glanced across at Clint, who frowned. "Hey you like climbing, right?"

.

"Put your left leg in that loop there…" Phil smirked. "No Clint, the other left."

Clint glared at him half-heartedly as he struggled to pull up the climbing harness. When Phil had suggested that they used the climbing wall, Clint had looked wary, but agreed readily. Phil had seen many benefits to this activity. Firstly, he knew Clint would enjoy it, and it would take his mind off previous incidents. Secondly, Phil would be holding the rope from the bottom, pulling in the slack as Clint climbed. The wall was tall, so Clint's safety would be in Phil's hands- he hoped that this would encourage a certain amount of trust in the younger agent. But at the end of the day, Clint had only turned 17 a month ago- he was still a child, and Phil was desperate to let him muck around a bit, especially as he had now embarked on the basic training aimed at 22-25 year olds.

Clint had tightened his harness, and was craning his neck to stare up at the wall, rocking back into his heels.

"Ready?" Phil asked.

Clint turned to face him, nodding.

"Ok, so I've got hold of your rope. As you climb I'll pull in the slack, and when you come back down again I'll let some back out. Understand?"

Clint looked troubled. "What happens if you let go of the rope?"

Phil glanced up at the wall. "You'd fall. But you don't need to worry about that because I won't let go."

Clint frowned, looking at Phil with apprehension and then the climbing wall with something almost akin to longing. How long had it been since he'd been up high? More to the point, how long had it been since he'd been up high without getting ready to shoot someone? He'd been stuck in among other people for too long, and the claustrophobia was slowly beginning to build. And once again, Phil was radiating honestly.

Quickly, he nodded and turned back to the wall. Behind his back, Phil grinned.

Clint began to climb; ascending so fast Phil found it hard to keep up. He realised suddenly that when he had thought Clint had been idly day dreaming whist putting on the harness he had in fact been planning the fastest route up the wall. Was there any time where Clint wasn't planning an escape route?

He was pulled back to earth by a sudden tug at the rope- Clint had already reached the top, and was leaning away from the wall almost nonchalantly. Phil reflected that the boy had probably broken one of SHIELD's records, and regretted not bringing a stopwatch.

"How do I get down?" Clint yelled. Honestly, he wanted to stay where he was, but he wasn't at all comfortable Phil having this much responsibility over him.

"I'm going to loosen the rope. I need you to lean back so that your legs are straight, at right angles to the wall. Then you can literally walk back down- or jump, if you want."

Clint shot Phil a doubtful look as the rope began to loosen.

"Let go of the wall and hand onto your rope." Phil called.

Clint shook his head, and held tightly to the rock face. "Hell no!"

Slowly, Phil was beginning to see a fault in his plan. If he had let go of the rope whist Clint was climbing, the boy simply could have held on to the wall. However, if he was going to abseil down there was only a miniscule chance of Clint being able to catch himself, and Clint had realised this too.

"I won't let you go!" Phil said, but Clint adamantly held on.

"Well how are you going to get down?" Phil asked.

"I don't need the harness!"

"Clint, if you take off that harness I will _crush_ you in paperwork."

Clint glanced down at the older man, looking fearful.

"Metaphorically." Phil added hurriedly. "Metaphorically crush."

Clint raised an eyebrow in something that may have been amusement. Phil realised that although Clint was hanging a hundred feet off the ground, refusing to get down because he wasn't prepared to let Phil lower him, he was still enjoying himself.

"Look," Phil called up. "Slowly let go of the wall so you're just hanging by the rope."

"No."

"Clint-"

"No."

"I won't-"

"Nope."

There was a pause in the argument. Clint stared down at Phil with an intensity that Phil had never seen before, let alone in someone of his age. Too late, Phil realised what a massive thing he was asking Clint to do.

Clint didn't trust anyone. _At all_. Literally no one out of all 7 billion people on the planet. But he didn't trust them even for little things such as buying him the right sandwich or lending him a reliable pencil. So if he didn't trust anyone for such mundane, insignificant things like that, how on _earth_ was he suddenly going to trust someone to hold him nearly a hundred feet off the ground with a thin piece of rope? He realised Clint had only agreed so readily to use the climbing wall because he trusted himself not to fall. But he certainly didn't trust _Phil_ to not let him fall. Phil swore under his breath, and then moved away from the wall.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Clint asked, a trace of apprehension lining his voice.

"I'm tying your rope down, and them I'm coming up." Phil said, securing the rope on the ring on the floor, and then pulling on his own harness.

"Wait, why?" The apprehension was growing.

"I'm going to climb up with you, and then I'm going to give you control over my rope." Phil said as he began to climb, tightening his own rope as he ascended.

"Why?" There was slightly less fear this time, more just bewilderment.

"Because I'm going to prove that I trust you, so you can trust me."

"No I can't."

"Why not?" Phil asked, continuing to climb.

"It just doesn't work like that."

"Yes it does- trust if earned. I'm earning it, that's how it works."

"Maybe for normal people." Clint mumbled. If Phil had been any further away, he wouldn't have heard.

"It's going to be pretty hard for you to learn to trust anyone Clint- we both know why. But I'm not asking you to trust _everyone_ you meet. At the moment, I just want you to trust Jane and I. And if you let it, it'll come."

Clint stared at the man below again, before pulling himself up onto the top of the climbing wall, where Phil joined him shortly after. There was a metre ledge at the very top of the wall, and from it Phil could see the training room from almost a hundred feet above. Clint was sat with his back against the wall, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He looked tired, almost weary.

Phil sat beside him, and was pleased that although he sat only a foot away, the kid didn't move.

Clint rested an elbow on his knee and rubbed his hand through his hair. "Nothing makes sense." He muttered.

Phil crossed his legs, rested his elbows on his knees and looked across at the boy beside him. "In what way?"

Clint was silent for a moment, scrunching his eyes shut. "People spend their time yelling at me or beating me up- that makes sense. But here none of that has happened- well aside from Green. But why? Why don't you just act like everyone is _supposed_ to act?"

Phil stared. "_Supposed_ to act?" But realistically, Phil understood what Clint meant. The abuse had become the norm- other than a few, unreliable exceptions, Clint had never known kindness. So when Phil and Jane come along, doing nothing to harm him, in Clint's mind it makes sense that they weren't doing what they were supposed to be doing.

Clint didn't reply, he just leant his head back until it touched the wall with a thud.

"Clint… Ok. At first I was told to find you, to bring you in or take you out-"

Clint straightened, staring at Phil in shock. "You were ordered to take me out?"

Phil silently cursed himself. "Yes, but-"

"Well why didn't you?" Clint demanded, fear edging itself between his shattered mental walls.

"I didn't even consider taking the shot, Clint. Because all these people told me about the child inside you, not the assassin, and then I realised that you were only really a 16 year old who made the wrong choices- or even who didn't make any choices at all, but was forced into doing what he was doing simply to survive. And they told me about all the horrible things that people had done to you, and I realised that I needed to _help_ you, Clint, not just "bring you in"."

"But _why_ do you want to help me?" Clint asked with trace of desperation as his voice rose.

Phil paused, frowning. "Because… because what happened to you wasn't fair. I wanted to give you a chance to be happy, to be a kid, to be calm and to feel safe. I wanted to help you because it was the right thing to do."

Clint stared at Phil with almost complete uncomprehending, but maybe, just _maybe_ there was a trace of something else in the back of his eyes. Understanding at last. But then he lowered his eyes again. "I don't think I'll ever feel safe, Phil." He mumbled.

Phil jumped to his feet. "Yes you will. And I'm going to prove it right now. You've going to lower me off this wall, and then I'll lower you. I'm showing you that you're safe because I've got your back. You don't have to always look over your shoulder, you don't have to look after yourself anymore, understand?"

Clint stared up at Phil with a sense of disbelief, and maybe a slight amount of awe. "You are _seriously_ into this, aren't you?"

Phil smirked, raising one eyebrow. "You've only just realised?"

Clint smiled slightly back.

Phil got Clint to bolt himself to a ring on the wall behind him, pointing out that as he was much lighter, he would be pulled over the edge. He quickly taught him how to use the belay, and began to lover himself over the edge.

"See, I hold the rope, not the wall." Phi demonstrated. "And keep my legs straight- it's easy."

Clint lent over the edge to watch Phil's decent, letting the rope through as he did so. Phil landed on his feet, spreading his arms wide. "See! It's fine. Now it's your turn."

Slowly, Clint swapped his harness with Phil's so that the agent had the belay. He then began to lover himself over the edge so that he was clinging to the top of the wall by his finger tips. His hands were shaking and sweating, and his breathing had escalated even though he hadn't done anything yet. Why was he so scared? Clint wasn't entirely sure. He wasn't scared of heights- he loved heights. Nor was he especially scared of falling. But he couldn't _physically_ let someone else be that responsible over his own safety. It wasn't that he didn't trust anyone else- it was far, far beyond a lack of trust. He just _couldn't_ do it. Not even once had someone been reliable to Clint- his mother had never been around, Stan never stopped his father, no one ever stopped Peter Moore- and there had been other adults at the orphanage who had known _precisely_ what was going on. But they had done nothing. Teachers, "friends", family, all of the people who knew what had been happening never, _ever _properly helped . Moral support was never enough.

Clint groaned, tightening his grip on the wall and letting his forehead drop onto his forearm. "I can't do it." His voice was quite and shaky, but Phil heard.

"Yes you can. You can trust me Clint. Hell, this is probably the hardest thing you'll ever do- and the most difficult bit will be letting go of the wall. But just let go Clint. You can do it." Phil's voice was also quite, but calm, and soothing.

Clint shakily took a couple of deep breathes. Slowly, he leaned back as far as he could without letting go with his hands.

"Come on Clint." Phil said quietly. "You can do it."

Slowly, so slowly, Clint let go. He gripped the rope as tightly as he possibly could, hands shaking, slipping, teeth chattering, his breath coming out on short gasps. Phil gave him more rope until he was vertical from the wall. If Phil let go, Clint wouldn't be able to catch himself.

"Well done." Clint could hear the smile in Phil's voice. "Now just walk yourself down. You've done the hard bit, Clint."

Clint trembled, put one foot behind the other, hesitating. And then he moved. Once again, a snail's pace- a strange comparison to his accent up the wall where he had been so fearless and free. But he kept moving, one foot and then the other. His hands loosened on the rope fractionally.

And then suddenly the ground was there, jarring him to a stop. His legs trembled and he swayed, shaking and white. He pushed his hands into his hair, hiding his eyes.

Phil approached steadily, and then, ignoring his internal warning, he slung an arm over Clint's shoulders, grinning. "Clint, that was fantastic. Well done." Although he didn't speak loudly, Clint could hear the sincerity in his voice. He took one shuddering breath, and then another. "That was the hardest thing I've ever done." He said quietly.

"I know." Phil replied. Sensing Clint's growing discomfort, he pulled away. "Well done."

Clint shot him a shaky grin, and Phil grinned back, clapping him on the shoulder. "Come one," He said, "Let's get something to eat."

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THE INTERNET STOPPED WORKING! I kid you not, I've restarted my laptop twice and rebooted the WIFI about 9 times and now it's nearly midnight. Still, that's dedication folks!

Ok there was more angst here. But there is a happy chapter coming up next! Yes you heard me right! And actual chapter with _happy_ things and considerably less angst! It will be a bit shorter than the other chapters but I think it's time for a bit of recreational fun- and in the next chapter Clint And Phil Go Out (dramatic capital letters- not dating, just to do fun things) So yes, they will be going out to do something fun and not related to killing people- wow.

So I'm sorry for the late update! (Well actually it's an early late update- a day early at a late hour). But I really want to do some posting before I go away on wednesday. So I'll be posting tomorrow at a more normal hour as the next chapter is basically completely ready.

So thank you for reading again! Thanks for all the reviews, favorites and follows, please review again because reviews are like my writing oxygen, and they spur me on to type faster. So thanks! Also review! And the worst of the angst is over! There will be occasional sad bits and one massively sad bit but I'm cracking into the more major story line now. Exciting times. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

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Slowly, but steadily, Clint's trust in Jane and Phil grew. It could only be seen in small things- he no longer tensed when either of them approached him, and although he was still very, very quiet he was beginning to answer their questions in more than three words, and seemed slightly more relaxed in their company. After the reading of Harry Potter, Clint and Jane seemed to have formed a certain bond. Clint trusted her not to harm him, and deep down he trusted her enough to talk to her to. However, he didn't.

Phil was beginning to realise that he had got to know barely anything new about Clint Barton. The only thing he could really think of was the fact that he once jumped from a window and was scared of needles, and even then, for the latter he had no idea why. Phil had told Clint plenty in a bid to gain trust, and yet Clint still had countless secrets that Phil couldn't even dream about. If not for Kennedy and all the other people from Clint's past, Phil would know next to nothing about the boy.

On the other hand, Phil knew that secrecy had been drilled into Clint. He had been taught literally from the beginning not to tell anyone what abuse had was enduring- he was told the punishment would be ten times worse than whatever they were doing to him at the time. Not even once in 17 long, hard years had Clint opened up to anyone, and realistically, Phil didn't expect him to. He knew full well that there would never, _ever_ be a point where their level of trust would become so strong that they would sit down together and Clint would tell Phil _everything_. Phil knew he would have to prise it out of the archer, piecing together what little he was told with what he could work out. But even so, Clint had told him despairingly little about himself, and only really when he was completely out of it and had unwillingly left his guard down. Phil was worried that Clint would never open up to him or Jane as they were simply doing their jobs, which in fact they were- as his handler/ guardian and psychologist, their number one aim at the moment was to restore Clint with an adequate amount of mental and emotional stability. But how were they meant to gain enough trust to be able to do that if he just believed that they were doing what they were doing because it was their jobs, they had to do it and they were being paid? Phil had to change Clint's belief on this matter, and he had a fairly good idea of where to start.

Clint eyed Phil with a vague sense of apprehension as the he entered the canteen that next morning.

"What are you wearing?" Clint asked slowly, referring to the fact that Phil was dressed in neither a suit nor training gear. Instead, he was wearing jeans and a navy blue long sleeved t-shirt. He also looked almost… excited, something Clint had never seen in the calm, older agent before. It was disconcerting.

Phil openly grinned. "Guess what today is."

Clint stared at Phil for a moment, and then shrugged.

"Today, Lord of the rings, Return of the King comes out in cinemas."

Clint rolled his eyes.

"So I'm going to go and see it later, do you want to come?" Phil asked.

Clint arched an eyebrow. "Aren't there three films?"

"This is the last one in the trilogy- wait, how do you know that?"

"I watched the second one in Norway. I didn't understand it though."

Phil laughed. "Maybe because it was in Norwegian?"

Clint rolled his eyes again. "No, because I hadn't watched the first one."

"Do you speak Norwegian?" Phil asked, frowning.

"Uh hu." Clint said mater-of-factly.

"Ok, fine. Well I can explain it all on the quinjet over, and then we can watch the others some other time." Phil suggested.

Clint frowned warily. "Where would we see it?"

"Vancouver. We're only an hour out from Canada."

"What about training?"

"Clint if it wasn't for your basic learning I could probably enter you for advanced training right now- and I know you're acing that too, despite how little Mrs Finch tells me."

Clint smirked briefly. "Does Fury know?"

"I cleared it with him yesterday. Hell, he knows that it would be worse to stop me from going than if I went."

"Who's piloting?"

"Me- sadly no one seems to think that a trip to the cinema is important enough to receive an actual pilot."

Clint's expression sobered and he frowned slightly. He sighed, staring at Phil intently with an expression he had come to recognise- it was the expression Clint wore when he was trying to weigh the risks, working out whether or not the person in front of him was lying or not. He rarely made decisions without it.

But then he shrugged. "Okay."

Phil grinned again. "Great. Meet me in the hanger in twenty minutes. And wear something that doesn't make you look like a secret agent!" He added as he was at the door. As he made his way back to his apartment Phil reflected that Clint had maintained eye contact more than usual, and that had probably been one of the longest conversations he and Clint had ever had. If he had been looking for assurance that the climbing had been a good idea, that had been it.

.

Clint was dismayed to find that he didn't really have anything that didn't make him look like a secret agent. Why did SHIELD find the need to inscribe their logo on nearly every piece of clothing they gave to their agents and recruits? He ended up settling for a pair of black, non-descriptive combat trousers, a plain white t-shirt and black trainers. However, he didn't have a single jacket that was without some sort of reference to SHIELD. After ten minutes of dithering, Clint decided to go without- the cinema would be warm, and after all, he had been in colder places with less clothing.

Clint arrived at the hanger just on time, but Phil hadn't yet appeared. He leaned nonchalantly on the outside hanger door, refusing to shiver at the cold wind. He watched the sea churning below the ship, turning sharply when he heard a set of familiar footsteps.

"I forgot, I'm sorry." Phil said easily, throwing a green hoodie at Clint. "Let's go." The older man strode off in the direction of the quinjet, leaving Clint staring dumbstruck. How could Phil have realised that Clint didn't have any non-agent clothes? Why the hell would he realise anything as insignificant as that? Shaking his head in bewilderment, Clint followed his handler, pulling on the hoodie as he went. It was a little too big, but the warmth was welcomed.

Clint had been relieved to discover that Phil would be piloting. He trusted the older agent somewhat more than a random pilot, and he reflected, as he took the co-pilot seat beside said agent, how was Phil piloting any different from him belaying?

Phil started up the quinjet, and they ascended smoothly into the sky. Clint leaned closer to the window- he had flied on planes countless times before, but this was nothing like it. Planes had made Clint claustrophobic and fearful, with so many unknown people so close around him in such an enclosed space. Although they had been unavoidable, Clint had grown to loath and dread them.

The craft was so small and yet it was like being actually in the sky, not inside a metal container. It was smooth, and yet so astoundingly fast and free.

Phil eyed the teenager with amusement, putting the jet on autopilot once the Helicarrier was well behind them, and they were above beautifully empty water. He leaned back into his chair, and after a moment Clint did so as well.

"Do you like flying?" Phil asked.

"Not in planes." Clint said slowly, glancing out of the window again. This made sense- small, metal container full of unidentified people- none of this sounded like something that Phil knew Clint would enjoy.

Phil nodded. "That figures. So, do you want me to explain lord of the rings?"

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"So the ultimate bad guy is just a massive flaming eye?" Clint asked disbelievingly. They had landed at a SHIELD airstrip not far from Vancouver, and were talking an unsuspicious looking car into the city.

"Yes, but he's not just a flaming eye- he has Saruman and armies of orcs and trolls, and then he has the ring of power which rules all the other rings, therefore he has the Ringwraiths and from the tower he can exert his will over Middle-earth and order his armies."

"But how can a tiny piece of jewellery do so much harm?" Clint asked, skeptical.

"It's not just a piece of jewellery, he put his own spirit into it, and it can control the wearers of the lesser rings- that's why the nine men became the Ringwraiths. And once Frodo puts it on, although he's invisible, the Ringwraiths can see him. It has a will of its own and can try to return to Sauron."

"I just don't understand how one ring-"

Phil rolled his eyes, grinning despite himself. "If you're not prepared to accept that the ring is mighty and all powerful, just watch the film for what it is- the loyalty and bravery and so on. And the _amazing_ fight scenes."

Clint rolled his eyes also, but looked slightly amused as they pulled into the cinema car park. Although they were forty minutes early, there was already a small queue for the ticket office. Phil could almost feel Clint's growing apprehension as they walked up to the cinema. "Easy, you're going to be fine." He said quietly. Clint glanced at him, and nodded slightly.

They took seats around the middle of the cinema, with Clint on Phil's right hand side. Clint grew warier as the cinema gradually filled up, especially when a family sat beside him. "It's fine, they're just average Canadian Lord of the Rings fans." Phil said slowly. Clint couldn't really tell whether he was joking or not, but either way, it was reassuring. Per usual, Phil radiating calm and honesty, with an unusual addition of excitement. The film began, and Clint relaxed slightly back into his seat.

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"No, the best bit was Legolas on the massive elephant-"

"Oliphaunt." Phil interrupted quickly.

Clint rolled his eyes and continued. "Yes, that. But when he was just climbing up it's leg and then slid down it's trunk, and – that so did _not_ only count as one!" He added indignantly.

Phil laughed. "You're just saying that because he's an archer too."

Clint shrugged, smirking. "Why is that so bad?" Phil noticed that the teenagers' Midwestern accent was beginning to strengthen once he relaxed.

Phil shook his head slowly. "No, the best bit is when they jump out of the pirate ship, and they just stand there alone and then the ghost army just..." Phil made a swooping motion with his hand, but Clint just shook his head and laughed.

After the movie, Phil pointed out that they still had two hours before they were due back at the Helicarrier, and to make the most of their very, _very_ rare free time, they ought to go and get a drink somewhere. Clint had readily agreed, and they were now sitting in a small diner a few blocks from the cinema, with Clint sipping a milkshake and Phil nursing a coffee in his hands.

Clint stared off into the distance in reminiscence, shaking his head and grinning. "Damn it Legolas is so kick ass!"

Phil laughed again.

"I would want to be an elf. I mean, they're so chilled out and higher than everyone else. I mean Legolas fights for like four hours and come out clean enough for a wedding. Yet Aragorn turns up like he's been up the backside of an Oliphant." Clint shook his head slowly.

"Whatever kid. Aragorn was ready to go the whole way, and he became king for the good of the people even though he didn't want to." Phil pointed out.

"Well maybe Aragorn was a better guy, but you have to admit that Legolas was a better fighter. Aragorn got beat up again and again, but Legolas could take _anyone_ down."

Phil smirked. "Well I think you have a point there. But we're forgetting Gimli, and Gandalf. Hey what about Boromir?"

Clint shook his head, lounging back in his chair. "Nope, Boromir was far behind. He fell for the ring. And yeah Gimli was cool- he was able to form a friendship with Legolas even though there was massive elf-dwarf hate going on. Then again who wouldn't want to be friends with Legolas? Hell, and then Gandalf." Clint shrugged airily. "What can I say? There are no words worthy to describe the guy."

Phil laughed again. "You would be a fantastic film critic. And your deep character analysis is stunning."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "I can't tell whether that's sarcasm or not."

Phil smirked. "I'll leave you to work it out." He glanced at his watch. "If we left now, we can fly slower and spend more time in the sky."

"Or," Clint suggested as they got up to pay, "You could kill some time showing me some awesome quinjet tricks."

"Clint, I would sooner allow you to grapple your way up an Oliphaunt than show you quinjet tricks." Phil replied dryly as they left the diner.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Hey I recon I could take down an Oliphaunt. _And_, you didn't deny that you can do Quinjet tricks!"

Phil smirked. "It was one time involving a drunk Tony Stark and heat seeking missiles, and I do _not_ plan on re-enacting it."

Clint raised his eyebrows as he got into the car. "Tony Stark? As in Stark Industries?"

Phil sighed. "We're not talking about it."

Clint grinned.

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"I'm only getting all these hits in because you have no sense of personal safety. Relax; try some defence instead of ceaseless offence." Phil said during their second sparing session after the epic movie day. Clint was nursing a set of spectacularly bruised ribs, but stubbornly refusing to show his pain.

"But that makes the fight longer!" Clint protested

"And what's so bad about that?" Phil asked.

"Well it means a longer time of you beating the shit out of me." Clint replied, fuming.

"I'm only beating the shit out of you because you're completely focused on hitting me instead of me hitting you." Phil shot back, sighing. "Look, I'm going to make a challenge out of it." Phil said, getting out a stopwatch. "We're going to spar for five minutes and you're not allowed to let me hit you. If I hit you even once, you've lost. Understand?"

Clint nodded, his interest peaking at the sound of a challenge.

Phil set the stopwatch and put it to the side. And then the fight began.

Once again Phil was astounded at the artistic style of Clint's fighting. At times it often seemed like gymnastics, and even more so now. Clint was springing, flipping and weaving to get out of the way of Phil's elbows, hands and feet. He blocked and dodged, uneasiness building in his eyes as the fight progressed. His desire to turn to offence built, but as he went in for a hit, he left his side open. Phil's fist slammed into his ribs again, and Clint went tumbling to the floor.

"That was good." Phil said.

"Not at the end." Clint grumbled back, accepting Phil's hand to help him to his feet.

"But that's the longest we've gone without me being able to get in a hit. Why did you stop?" Phil asked.

Clint shrugged, as closed off and secretive as always.

"Let's go again. I'm setting the stopwatch for ten minutes this time. But remember, protecting yourself comes before beating me up."

Clint shouldered his wariness away as the bout began again. The first five minutes passed without Phil hitting anything but air. Clint realised that if he kept running circles around Phil, the older man would tire much fasted, enabling Clint to get some hits in.

Well, if Phil had been impressed by Clint's agility and speed before, it was _nothing_ compared to how impressed he was now. Never mind hitting Clint- Phil barely _saw_ him. The kid skidded and flipped across the mat, and Phil whirled around after him, too slow and too clumsy. Clint was light on his feet, always moving, barely in the same spot for more than a matter of seconds. Phil couldn't even _dream_ of being that fast. He was quite literally left in the dust.

Just as the stopwatch began to beep, Clint materialised in front of Phil, grabbed him by the shoulders, launched himself into the air and forced his feet into Phil's chest. They both flew backwards- Phil slammed into the floor but Clint used the momentum to somersault and land on his feet.

Clint whooped and laughed whist Phil lay on the floor, groaning. The kid had been _playing_ with him. He'd been stalling until the stopwatch went off. That hadn't been a fight to Clint- that had been a game.

Phil let Clint pull him to his feet. "My ribs hurt." Phil said, clutching them dramatically. "But not as much as my pride."

Clint burst out laughing again.

"I haven't had my ass kicked so badly in ten years. I'm not even kidding." Phil said dryly, trying to keep a straight face. But Clint's laughter was damned infectious, and soon he was grinning.

"How did you do it?" Phil asked.

Clint took a moment to get himself under control. "I knew you'd tire quicker. So I just kept you running around until you were too knackered to keep your guard up."

Phil laughed freely. "Yes! That is exactly what I wanted you to do. To plan ahead- and that was fantastic Clint! I haven't seen anyone fight so well in years."

Clint smirked.

Phil decided that this was enough sparing for the day- he was exhausted. Clint hadn't even picked up a sweat. Hell, that kid could keep up with _superheroes_.

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_Preview for chapter six_

_._

"_Breathe, Clint, keep breathing."_

"_Easy, calm down. You're going to be ok, just breathe for me."_

"_That's it, you're ok. Keep breathing."_

_Clint's consciousness returned slowly, and the chaos of his terrified mind began to lesson. Then, very suddenly he broke out of Phil's embrace, propelling himself to the other side of the room until he hit the wall with his back. He pressed against it, hands gripping his t-shirt so that his knuckles turned white._

_Clint's fear was perfectly open on his face. And Phil had never seen someone so frightened, so horrified and disturbed. He couldn't even begin to imagine what Clint had dreamt of, but at the same time, he had to know. _

_Phil rose slowly, hands open and defenceless. "Clint, tell me what happened."_

_Clint shook his head adamantly. _

_._

_._

_._

Hi. So before I begin, my shift buttons aren't working. So I can't do any smiley faces and exclamation marks- I'm not in a terrible mood, it's just my faulty computer [insert exclamation mark here]. I wrote this chapter a couple of weeks back though, which is why there are exclamation marks there but not here.

So, a happy chapter [exclamation mark] As Phil and Clint are just about past the acquaintance stage, I wanted to start to develop their friendship more, and finally begin to bring out the happier, cheekier Clint we all love.

But bad news- I'm going away for ten days. That's why you've all been rewarded with a preview for chapter six, so I don't loose your interest. And the events of chapter six are what I've been leading up to the entire series, not just this story but Too Far Gone as well. Finally we're going to learn exactly why Clint is who he is today- it's his ultimate number 1 secret. It's this moment that will be the final thing to built up Phil and Clint's friendship. And I'm making you wait for ten/eleven days to find out what it is. I'M SORRY [exclamation mark].

But this isn't the end [exclamation mark]. There are lots and lots of new chapters coming up, so don't worry.

So please review [exclamation mark] I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed- I love your reviews [exclamation mark] and please continue reviewing because they make me happy [exclamation mark]. Also thanks to all the new followers [exclamation mark]

So what did you think of this chapter [question mark] what do you think is going to happen [question mark]

Finally, thanks for reading [exclamation mark] The intensely important chapter six should be posted Monday the 11th, in the evening. See you soon [exclamation mark]

Ps. Aragorn is awesome. And I can't compare his and Legolas' fighting styles because they're too different… I don't want to offend and Aragorn fans here.

Pps. This is ridiculous. I can't even do proper curvy brackets, and I sound so sarcastic. Sigh.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer- I don't own the Avengers, though would like to. A lot.

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A little more than a week later and in the light of Clint's phenomenal sparing success- Phil hadn't managed to hit Clint once during the last five training sessions- Phil joined Clint in the canteen.

Clint eyed the folder that the older agent had put onto the table with mild apprehension.

"I think you're ready to go into advanced training." Phil said once he had sat down. Clint raised his eyebrows sceptically, but didn't comment.

"Sampson leaves just over three weeks from now, and I reckon you'll be ready. You're combat is easily up to scratch and you're nearly finished with basic learning. You've been taught all that the other recruits will be taught before entering, _and_ they don't have your prior experience." Phil continued.

Clint frowned, and looked wary. "I don't know. I don't think I'm good enough."

"Clint, you're ten times better than any of the other recruits. None of these people, agents for not, could ever beat you at a long distance weapon, and only a few of them could beat you at hand to hand combat. You're easily good enough to enter, and there's not much more I can teach you until after you have gained the experience of advanced training." Phil said firmly.

"But… I've barely had any training, how can I be ready?" Clint replied doubtfully.

"Basic training in general is just meant to teach you the skills needed for you to enter advanced training, where you will apply the skills to situations similar to missions and assignments. But if you already have these skills, what's the point in holding you back?"

Clint was silent for a moment. "What will you do if I don't pass?" He asked slowly.

Phil stared for a moment, before silently cursing himself. It had become obvious that Clint feared failure- after all, the last teacher he had, Jacques, clearly hadn't liked it when Clint made mistakes. "Nothing. If you don't pass, it just means that you weren't ready. And that's fine- we'll just train some more and enter you for next time. If you don't pass, I won't punish you. Nothing bad will happen- trust me." Phil said sincerely.

Clint stared back, his mind in turmoil. Once again, he could see nothing but honesty in Phil's eyes. What had Phil ever done to hurt him? Phil Coulson went against everything Clint had been taught. He was saying that Clint was actually good enough- no one had ever said that before. Hell, Phil Coulson was just a good guy.

Slowly, Clint nodded. "Ok."

Phil smiled briefly, and opened the folder, which contained all the paperwork needed to enter Clint for advanced training. They spent the next half an hour signing various pieces of paper. Phil was oblivious to Richard Green glaring at them from across the room, bleeding jealousy. Clint however, wasn't oblivious- Hawkeye saw everything, and he knew that the momentary peace from Green and his followers was about to end.

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Another week progressed and Clint grew steadily more wary. It was well enough for Phil to say that nothing would happen if he failed, but words often meant nothing. Clint was consumed by a gnawing fear that he wouldn't be good enough; he would fail and then be punished. But the paperwork had been finalized, and Clint had been entered- there was no going back.

Prompted by these new fears, Clint's nightmares began to gain intensity, featuring more frequently The Swordsman, who wasn't often in Clint's dreams. Clint slept less and less, and gradually began to return to his quieter, more reclusive self. Both Jane and Phil were worried, but neither could really work out a cause for this- per usual, Clint was giving them no insight whatsoever to what was going on inside his head.

Things only became more serious when, a week after Clint had entered advanced training he began to dream of his mother. At first they were simple dreams, some of the few happy moments Clint could remember of her such as his fifth birthday when she brought him cake or when she read to him in hospital after he broke his ankle. They then progressed to typical stress dreams such as Clint seeing her at the end of an alley way, running to catch her but never being able to run fast enough run fast enough, or seeing her in a crowd of busy people but not being able to find her again. Clint knew exactly where the dreams were heading.

It was after this that Clint stopped sleeping all together.

At first it was easy- Clint had always had trouble sleeping, so could cope well enough. But after a while it began to affect him- his reaction times slowed and Phil got in more and more hits whilst sparring. After a week his body craved sleep than ever, driving him to midnight archery practice- archery was the only thing that left his mind crystal clear. Clint had been at the range since one in the morning. Six hours later, it happened.

_The wire tenses_

_Back muscles tighten and lock_

_Slow your breathing_

_Exhale _

_Relax your hand_

Release.

Thud.

Clint's breath caught in his throat. The bow slid from his hands and clattered to the floor.

The arrow had not landed in the centre of the target. Instead, it was about an inch to the left.

Jacques's words began to echo hauntingly inside his head. Clint rushed forward and pulled his arrows franticly from the target with trembling hands, locking them and the bow away in the armoury.

Barely moments later he was out of the room, pacing down the corridor, The Swordsmen's voice so loud that he didn't hear Richard Green approach from behind him, and only realised his presence once the man laid his hand on his shoulder. Clint spun round, but this time Green didn't bother with words, and just punched him straight in the face.

Clint didn't stop to think. The raw, angry beast of fury roared inside him, and all of his thought processes vanished. Instead, the mind numbing rage that was always inside Clint took over.

Clint caught Green's wrist and twisted, driving his knee into the older man's stomach. Green doubled over, but drove his fist into the archer's ribs. The anger pushed away all sense of pain, and Clint grabbed Green by the shoulders, launched himself into the air and kicked the man in the stomach with both feet. Both of them flew backwards; Green slammed onto his back, groaning, and Clint flipped back onto his feet.

Clint was about to lunge forward again when a strong, unfamiliar hand grasped him by the collar of his t-shirt and pushed him against the wall. With the other hand he stabbed a finger in Green's direction, growling, "Get out of my sight. I'll deal with you later."

Clint struggled for a moment, but the rage was dying inside him. Normally it would have lasted longer, but it was diminished by the fear and fatigue. He sagged against the wall, defeated.

"_What was that?"_ The phantom of Jacques roared. _"That wasn't good enough!"_

Nick Fury looked down at the young archer in front of him steadily before hurling him to his feet. He kept a hand at Clint's elbow, more to stop him from falling than to stop him from running away. In fact, the boy didn't even struggle- he seemed to have given up.

Fury practically dragged the teenager into his office and deposited him into one of the chairs. Clint looked, well, exhausted. There were shadows under his eyes and he didn't even acknowledge that Fury was in the room. Instead he stared aimlessly at the table, completely silent.

_You little git! Are you going to shoot like that in the show?!_

Fury sighed heavily, and got up to make a quick phone call. Moments later, Phil Coulson walked through the door. He glanced from Fury to Clint, and then demanded, "What happened?"

"I arrived in time to see Richard Green punch him in the face. They fought, Clint won, and I pulled them apart."

Phil stared. "Did Clint provoke him?"

"No- he had just come out of the range, and had his back turned. In fact, he didn't even seem to realise that Green was there until his put his hand on his shoulder."

Phil frowned- this was very unlike Clint. Slowly, he pulled a chair in front of the boy, and sat down.

"Clint?" He said quietly. He waited patiently until Clint looked up, though he refused to look him in the eye. "What happened?"

Clint ran the nail of once finger along the palm of his other hand. "He hit me first."

"I know." Phil replied gently. "Do you know why?"

Clint was silent, and his gaze dropped back to the floor.

"How long had you been in the range?" Phil asked quietly.

Clint was silent for a moment longer. "Since one."

"And why were you in the range?" Phil asked. Once again, Clint didn't reply. There was a frightened edge to the boy, something fearful and unstable, something that certainly hadn't been there before.

"Clint, what happened?" Phil leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. Clint looked at his hands, his breath quickening.

_You're not good enough!_

"Clint, talk to me."

Clint suddenly looked up, the open fear on his face making him seem far younger. "I missed. Phil, I missed."

Phil kept his expression calm and steady. "Explain to me what happened."

Clint shuddered. "The arrow- the arrow didn't land in the middle. It was an inch of to the left."

Phil sighed, and straightened. "Can I take him out of here?" He asked, turning to Fury. The other man nodded, his expression serious and almost pitying.

Phil lifted Clint slowly to his feet, with one hand under his bicep, supporting a large amount of his weight. Phil was thankful that the corridors were mostly empty on the way to Phil's apartment. Once inside, Phil lowered Clint onto the couch and sat beside him. Clint rested his elbows on his knees and gripped his hair with his hands. Phil laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "Everybody makes mistakes." He said slowly, pausing after each word.

Clint shuddered.

"Before you couldn't miss because someone would beat you, or you'd hit the wrong person, or they wouldn't die straight away. But now you don't need to worry- even our very best marksmen make mistakes in the field, and you are far better than our best marksmen. No one is going to hurt you if you miss, and especially now when you're only training- now is the time to make mistakes. If you don't make them now, you'll only make them later. _No one_, not even you, has aim perfect every time."

Clint shook his head. "But I'm Hawkeye. I never miss. It wasn't good enough"

"Everyone misses. When's the last time you slept?"

Clint pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. "A week. Maybe more."

Phil nearly groaned out loud- how had he not seen this? "And that is why you missed." He pulled Clint's hands away from his face, and pushed him by his shoulders until he was lying on the couch. "Sleep now."

Clint shook his head firmly, and struggled to get upright. "No, I don't want to sleep."

"Why not?" Phil asked, stopping Clint from sitting up.

"I don't want to dream."

"What have you been dreaming about?" Phil asked slowly. Unsurprisingly, Clint didn't reply. "Go to sleep- I'm not going anywhere." Against his will, Clint's body overrode his mind and his eyes drifted closed.

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_The muffled yells intensified, and Clint fought desperately to turn away. This was the one dream, over all other dreams that Clint feared more than anything. This dream was so much worse than anything his mind conjured up about Moore or Barney. He didn't want to look, he didn't want to see what he saw whenever he thought of her, the one image of her that remained crystal clear. But the blood splattered the tiles and Clint, yet again, couldn't turn away._

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Clint awoke screaming, covering his mouth with his hand in a desperate effort to render himself silent. He doubled over, shuddering, his breath coming out in short and unsteady gasps through his hand. Phil was by his side in moments, hand on his shoulder, but his words were lost in the echoes of the gunshot.

Phil tried to get Clint to face him, but failing that he pulled him forwards so that his forehead was resting on his shoulder, and squeezed the back of his neck. Clint could feel Phil talking but the words still didn't register. His mind was a mess of fear and horror, the scene replaying over and over and over in his head. He was hyperventilating, and his head was beginning to swim with the lack of oxygen. His heart was beating so fast it physically hurt- Clint thought he was going to be sick.

He _hated_ this dream. He _hated_ it over all the others, because if there was one particular moment that broke Clint Barton, that was it. This moment was far, far worse than all the others. That was the moment when Clint became completely alone, when he lost his trust in all others. This was the dream he hated most.

Clint tried to retreat back into the back of his mind but the horror was just too thick and plentiful- there was nowhere to hide. Every part of his mind was screaming. There was no peace or escape. It was relentless.

Among the sound of the gunshots and the blood splattering over the kitchen tiles, a presence of another person seeped its way through the cracks in Clint's shattered mind. Clint held onto this feeling of the peace and the calm. Gradually the gunshots faded, and they were replaced by the voice of the man that radiated safety and stability. Clint began to feel his hand on the back of his neck and the material of his shirt on his forehead.

"Breathe, Clint, keep breathing."

"Easy, calm down. You're going to be ok, just breathe for me."

"That's it, you're ok. Keep breathing."

Clint's consciousness returned slowly, and the chaos of his terrified mind began to lesson. Then, very suddenly he broke out of Phil's embrace, propelling himself to the other side of the room until he hit the wall with his back. He pressed against it, hands gripping his t-shirt so that his knuckles turned white.

Clint's fear was perfectly open on his face. And Phil had never seen someone so frightened, so horrified and disturbed. He couldn't even begin to imagine what Clint had dreamt of, but at the same time, he had to know.

Phil rose slowly, hands open and defenceless. "Clint, tell me what happened."

Clint shook his head adamantly.

"Clint, this has gone on long enough. I need to know what happened. You don't need to hold these secrets anymore."

Clint shook his head again, staring at the floor. "No. I can't. I can't tell anyone."

"Is this to do with what happened with Green? The first time, I mean." Clint stared up at him, frozen and fearful, so Phil continued. "This isn't breaking the rule. This doesn't have much to do with the actual secret, does it? And anyway, no one is here to enforce the rule."

Clint covered his eyes with the palms of his hands and gripped his hair.

"This isn't a good secret, Clint. This is the sort of secret you should tell people, because it's too big to deal with on your own. And that's ok- even if someone told you not to tell, you should, because you'll feel better afterwards and they can't hurt you anymore." Phil paused. "So is this to do with what Green said?"

Slowly, Clint nodded.

"Can you tell me what you dreamt of?" Phil asked slowly.

Clint's breathe hitched, and he shook his head again.

"Ok… what if I guess? Then you can just nod or shake your head at whether I'm right or not. Then you're not telling me anything- that's not breaking the rule." Phil suggested.

Clint took a few deep breaths, removed his hands from his face and straightened slightly. Then he nodded.

"Was it about a real person?" Phil asked.

Clint nodded.

"Was it someone you knew after you were… fifteen years old?"

Clint shook his head.

"Before fifteen?"

Yes.

"Before ten?"

Yes.

"Before eight?"

Yes.

This meant it was someone Clint knew when he was still living with his family, and narrowed the possibilities drastically. "Was it someone in your family?"

Hesitation, and then a nod.

"Was it your father?"

No.

"Brother?"

No.

"Was it your mother?"

Clint's breath hitched again, and his hands curled into fists. This was all the answer Phil needed.

"That's about as far as I can guess." Phil said. "Tell me what happened, Clint. It's only a dream."

Clint shuddered.

"Come on, Clint." Phil said quietly.

Clint looked into the eyes of the first person he could bring himself to trust, and saw the honesty. Clint _trusted_ Phil. And he was tired of keeping this secret. That was why he, for the first time, could actually talk to someone about what had happened.

"My parents were arguing." Clint began. His voice was unsteady and wavering. "But this time mom was actually… actually arguing back. Normally it was just dad yelling at her. I listened from upstairs until it got louder and worse…" Clint paused for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut, before opening them and continuing. "So I came downstairs. Mom was standing with her back to me, but dad was facing the door. He was angry, and drunk." Clint took another unsteady, guttered breath. "Dad owned a pistol, and he kept it in a draw under the sink. The arguing got worse. He opened the draw, and, and…" Clint shuddered, wrapping his arms around his waist as if to stop himself falling apart. "He was waving it around and…" Clint gritted his teeth, trying to get his emotions under control. Phil took a hesitant step forward, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how. Suddenly Clint's words were coming out in a fluent, hurried rush like something that had been held back for far too long. "It went off. She fell to the floor, and she wasn't moving. Dad didn't even look shocked. He just looked empty, emotionless. Then he saw me in the doorway… I tried to run but I couldn't, I couldn't move at all, I was completely frozen. He came towards me and his boots made bloody imprints on the floor. He locked me in the blanket box and then he went into the garden. I made such a racket that Barney ended up letting me out."

Phil stared for a moment, also trying to get control of his own emotions. He'd never seen anyone so distraught- in fact, distraught wasn't even the word for it. Devastated, horrified, terrified, but so much worse.

"Have you had this dream before?" Phil asked unsteadily.

Clint was so pale and shaking he almost seemed to be going into shock. Shuddering, he nodded, "A few times."

"But Clint… it's ok. It's only a dream."

Clint looked up from the floor to look into Phil's eyes with a horrible expression. It was hopelessness, sadness and pain all mixed into one. It wasn't the expression one would wear over just a dream, no matter how bad it was.

_But something must have happened over there. It was the night their mother left- Edith, nice woman, but not too clever and couldn't stand up to Harold- she was out most of the time anyway. Clint came over the next morning- why I can still see him now, standing there all white and shaking. I don't know what drove Edith away, but Clint was never quite the same after that. We tried to ask him what happened, but he didn't tell us nothin'._

The ground felt as if it gave way beneath Phil's feet. It was like shock, but so much more. Phil knew lots of terrible things had happened to Clint, but this was something that he had not considered even once. The breath was knocked out of him, and Phil just stared.

Clint's knees buckled and he went to collapse to the ground, but without thinking, Phil caught him and pulled him into a hug. Clint hadn't been hugged in… well, a very, very long time, and his shattered mind was in no state to understand what was going on. And yet it was something of comfort and warmth and safety. Clint let his head fall onto Phil's shoulder. He gritted his teeth, his entire body tensing, struggling to keep in all the bottled up emotions.

Phil tightened one arm around Clint's back and the other around his shoulders. "Let it out. Let go." Phil said, swallowing against the tightness in his throat.

Clint sagged, gripping the back of Phil's shirt. He shuddered and his shoulders hitched. And then Clint Barton cried for the first time in nine years. The tears streamed down his face and soaked into Phil's shirt. Phil rubbed his hand up and down Clint's back. Clint was exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally too. He was exhausted with dealing with all that had happened to him, exhausted with having to deal with everything alone, exhausted with having to be an adult when he was a child. Exhausted in having to deal with Barney and his father and Jacques and Moore and Tchoverick and so many other horrible, _horrible_ people he had met whist on his own. Most of all, he was exhausted with being alone. It was said that you can't miss something that you never had- this was untrue. Because you saw what others had and _then_ you missed what wasn't yours. Clint lay on buildings and watched families through the scope of his rifle. He saw them in parks or zoos or shopping centres. He saw them encased in the orange glow radiating from their windows, saw their safety and _yes_ he missed it.

Clint was finished with being strong, from hiding his fear and his pain. Clint was finished with being alone.

.

Slowly, Phil pulled away from Clint, laying him back on the sofa. "Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back." He said. Clint nodded, wrapping his arms around himself again and squeezing his eyes shut. Clint didn't know how to feel. More than anything, he just felt empty. Shell-shocked, almost. He felt as if something had just gone terrible wrong- he had actually told someone the one secret that was more important than all of the others. This was the one secret he knew he would never tell. And yet he had- and he was too tired to bring himself to care. He felt as if he had been holding something heavy for so long and it had been slowly slipping out of his grip. Finally he'd let it go, and it had left him thinking- why did it matter anymore?

Clint felt numb. Someone put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him so that he was sitting. They pushed a mug of something warm into his hands, and gradually his sight returned. Jane was sitting beside him on the couch, and Phil was standing a short distance away.

Clint glanced at them both, and then his eyes rested on Phil. "Did you tell her?" he asked blankly. Phil nodded.

Clint focused on Jane again. He was pleased that there was no pity in her eyes. Instead there was something akin to understanding. "Drink that." She said quietly, and Clint obeyed. The drink was something sweet and hot, but he wasn't fully awake enough to work out exactly what it was.

"How are you feeling?" She asked after he had swallowed.

Clint shrugged. He really didn't know how to describe it. "What happens now?"

Phil stepped closer and sat on the arm of the couch. "It depends on what you want to do. We could arrest him, and then justice will finally be done."

Clint frowned. "You mean you believe me?"

"No one is that good a liar." Phil said slowly.

"Was there someone else who didn't believe?" Jane asked.

"Barney didn't." Clint replied blankly.

"Where was he when it happened?" Jane pressed.

"Out." Clint shortly replied. "Camping. He came back nine hours afterwards and let me out of the blanket box. I told him what happened but later dad said that she'd just left. Barney said I was being stupid."

Phil's eyes widened. "You were in the blanket box for _nine_ _hours_?"

"That's why you're claustrophobic." Jane summarised slowly.

Clint didn't reply. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "Will you tell Fury?"

Jane and Phil exchanged a look, and then the latter nodded. "But he's the only other person who will know. And this won't go on your file- nothing from your childhood has."

Clint sighed, and tipped his head forward so that it was resting on his knees.

Phil moved to squeeze his shoulder. "Whatever you do, we'll back you up."

Clint sighed again, and stood up slowly. "You talked to him, didn't you? My father?"

Phil nodded, uncertain where this was going.

"What was he doing?" Clint asked firmly.

"Drinking." Phil replied dryly.

Clint's expression darkened. "What will happen if he's arrested?"

"He'll be brought into SHIELD. They'll start an investigation, to find evidence of the murder and question him. Then we'll decide how long he'll have in prison. It won't be done like a normal trial- SHIELD doesn't do everything by the book."

Clint nodded slowly. He turned away from them, and walked slowly to the window, crossing his arms across his chest. Suddenly Clint didn't look like a frightened seventeen year old. "Arresting him would be the closest I can get to avenging her." He said quietly, but firmly.

"Are you sure?" Phil asked.

With his back still turned, Clint nodded.

Phil smiled briefly, and strode to the door. "I'm going to speak to Fury."

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Hello! So that was intense, and I don't really know what to say now. I knew vaguely what was going to happen in this scene but it's been edited slightly over the past month or so, mainly with Clint's reaction after telling Phil. I wanted to show Clint's strength as well as his more youthful side. So we'll be meeting Clint's father again soon and that was a scene I sure enjoyed writing- more kickass Clint :D Um I've realized there is hugging in just about all of my fanfictions- I think someone was hugged in every chapter of A Childhood Lost, which it just a _little_ bit ott, but I only realized afterwards. However don't worry- there definitely won't be lots of hugging in this story for multiple reasons.

I got the initial idea of advanced training from basic training in the army, and then remembered the basic training from the Cherub series, which was more up the street of a secret agent. It will be different, though. I'll also be introducing some new characters and reintroducing one character from an earlier chapter. Though I'm a little worried about creating too many original characters, so don't worry- I'm making sure not to create and army of OCs, there will only be a few of them.

I'm sorry but I'm going to update once every three days now as I'm posting faster than I'm writing, and I don't want to leave you with a massive wait a couple of chapters later whist I frantically write.

So thank you for waiting, and for all the wonderful reviews! I said I'd post on Monday, but as it is past midnight, it is technically Tuesday, and I can only apologize- I had relatives down and it's hard to escape ;D

In other news, my shift buttons have died again. I consulted Google and came up with nothing, but realised I can copy all the missing punctuation off Wikipedia. It's tedious, but on the bright side I do know an awful lot more about punctuation. Fun fact- _"_The English town of Westward Ho!, named after the novel by Charles Kingsley, is the only place name in the United Kingdom that officially contains an exclamation mark._"_

Fascinating.

Please review and favourite, thank you for reading! Now I need to go to bed before I become nocturnal. Thanks!

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	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer- I don't own anything. Also, there may be some mistakes in the medical facts later on in the chapter, for which I can only apologise and correct if necessary.

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Clint never broached the subject of his father to Phil again for some times, and the older agent didn't push him to. He had a feeling that Clint and Jane had talked about it, but due to confidentiality Phil didn't know exactly what had been said. Either way, he felt as if the psychologist was better trained to deal with such situations than he was, and therefore left them to it.

Clint himself seemed much better. Gone, in most parts were the silence and the secrecy. Although he was still remarkably closed off to other agents and kept himself to himself, he was relatively open with Phil and Jane, and seemed to be warming towards Fury, which could be seen in the way that he actual met the director's stern gaze when they crossed each other in the corridors. Phil suspected Fury was beginning to develop a soft spot to Clint after seeing a side to him other than the angry, silent master assassin.

Clint became even more driven, rushing through his training at a furious pace, as fast as, if not faster than before. He finished basic learning and left the classroom for good. Phil wanted to test his combat skills against other people, and put him up against other agents, which he defeated easily. Phil then put him against multiple agents, but after these bouts resulted in a dislocated shoulder, three cracked ribs, a sprained ankle and a broken wrist, none of which were to Clint, Phil decided that it may be a good idea to stop. Instead, he began to teach Clint some of the finer skills of an agent, such as hacking, medical training, basic mechanics and escape and evasion- (basically Phil would tie Clint to a chair, and sit across the room doing paperwork until he managed to get himself out. As expected, he was very good.)

All of these went very well, thought Clint did seem to have a problem with empathising with other people's pain, which Phil discovered during the archer's medical training.

"Clint, he had a broken arm. You can't twist him like that."

"Its fine, he's not even complaining."

"Well that's because he's an inanimate object made of plastic."

"If he's an inanimate object, he won't mind being twisted like this."

Fury opened the door to find Phil Coulson leaning on the opposite wall looking amused and exasperated at the same time. His younger charge was kneeling on the floor next to a mannequin, trying to put a sling on its "broken" arm, manipulating it in a way that almost made Fury wince.

Clint glanced up when Fury entered, frowning slightly. Fury nodded a greeting, and turned to Phil. "I need to talk to you outside."

"The investigation is over. Harold Barton pleaded guilty for killing Edith Barton. He's up for twenty five years or more- we haven't decided where yet." Fury said, straight to the point after the door closed behind them.

Phil nodded, exhaling slowly. "Where is he now?"

"In our holding cells. I thought it might be a good idea…" Fury hesitated, which was unusual. "It might be a good idea for Barton to see him."

Phil frowned, looking surprised. "Why?"

"Phil, we both know that bastard, Harold, is a mess. He's in terrible shape. But the last time Clint really saw him he was stronger than an ox- in the eyes of an eight year old, at least. And in Barton's mind, he's still like that. And that's why Clint's still scared of him. But he could easily hold his own against his father now- in fact; Clint could kill him if he wanted to. We need to show Clint what his father is really like."

Phil smirked. "Hey, this is a side of Nick Fury I never thought I'd see."

Fury glared at Phil with one eye. "I want him to become a good agent- hell, better than good. And to become a good agent he needs more mental stability."

Phil suppressed his smile. "Whatever. I think it's a good idea. When can Clint see him?"

"As soon as possible- I want him out of here and into some damn cell." A frown creased Fury's forehead- it seemed as if the teenager's vocabulary had rubbed off on his agent a little. Great.

Phil nodded. "I'll talk to him." Fury nodded also, and strode away with his leather coat flapping.

Phil entered the room, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he found Clint hovering just behind the door.

"Were you eavesdropping?" Phil asked slowly.

"No." Clint's face was perfectly straight- Phil had never seen such a perfect liar. "Well, I couldn't hear what you were saying." He added.

Phil rolled his eyes, and then grew serious. Clint saw the change and looked wary.

"The investigation is finished and you father admitted to killing your mother. He's getting at least twenty five years in prison. For now he's in the Helicarrier's holding cells, would you like to see him?" Phil said.

Clint took a step back, his breath quickening slightly. "Why the hell would I _want_ to see him?"

Phil held his hands up in a calming manor. "What does your father look like in your head?"

Clint looked bewildered. "What has that got to do with anything?"

"Because in your head he's tall and terrifying. But he's not anymore. And I want you to see how much weaker he is and how much stronger you are, because then you won't be scared of him anymore."

Clint was silent for a moment, before he said firmly. "I'm not _scared_ of him!"

Phil shook his head. "You and I both know that's not true."

Clint grew even tenser, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"Trust me on this." Phil said quietly.

Clint stared at Phil uneasily, analytically, measuring the risks against the benefits. What if his father attacked him? He could defend himself. But his father was the strongest person Clint had ever met. But Phil would be there. But what the hell could Phil do? Did Clint want to see him? Well, of course not.

"Clint, I'll come in with you if you want." Phil added.

Clint sighed heavily. And then he nodded.

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The holding cells were in the belly of Helicarrier, dark and gloomy due to the lack of windows. The maximum security cells were off to the left, but Harold Barton was being held in the cells to the right. The cells were just one long room, divided into multiple smaller rooms and then halved lengthways by metal bars. All the cells but one was empty.

Fury was waiting outside the door, along side a guard. The guard opened the door with a set of jangling keys, but Clint didn't enter. Instead he stood in the doorway, unmoving. Fury and Phil exchanged a glance, and then the later moved forwards to lay a hand on Clint's shoulder. Gently but firmly, he pushed the boy into the room, following him in, not removing his hand from his shoulder until they were standing before the only occupied cell.

Harold Barton was sitting on the bench at the far end of the cell, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. As his son approached, he raised his head, recognition and then surprise flickering across his face.

Clint stepped forward towards the bars, but Phil stayed where he was.

"Clint." Harold said softly.

Clint didn't reply. His face was hidden in shadow, and his expression was unreadable. Suddenly, he turned to Phil. "Can you leave?"

Phil looked surprised. "Sure. I'll be outside."

Clint waited until his handler's footsteps died away and his silhouette was swallowed in shadow. His hard, emotionless gaze was fixed on his father's face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" The older man asked.

Clint was silent for a moment. "This… is where I work." His voice was quiet but stable.

Harold stared, the corner of his mouth curling up into a cruel smile. "Who was he?" Harold jerked his head towards the end of the room, where Fury and Phil were standing in the doorway.

Clint hesitated- how exactly was he meant to describe Phil? "He's everything that you weren't" He replied finally.

Harold raised an eyebrow. "Don't think too bad of me kid. I was only trying to make you strong. And it worked, right? Look at you now. Look at what you've become. I'd say it worked."

Clint stared. "It wasn't to make me strong. It was because you were crazy and angry."

Harold shrugged, and stood up slowly. "The rage. You can't control it kid. Once it gets hold of you, you can't push it away. It _consumes_ you. It's who you are." Harold lunged forwards, gripping the bars of the cell, leering." And I've seen it. I've seen it in you too and there is _nothing_ you can do to stop it _eating_ you alive."

Clint stared at the man in front of him.

Yes, he was his father. But there was no love, no feelings but fear and hate. Clint had tried _everything_ he could to please his father, and when he finally realised that there was nothing he could do to ever become good enough, he stopped trying. He ran from the beatings whenever he could, but otherwise, he took them and didn't complain. But then this man, the man Clint hated with every fibre of his being took his mother from him. And Clint broke. The fear and the anger consumed him. There was no one left to care. But soon enough Clint didn't need anyone to care. He trusted again and again, and every single time that trust was broken. So then he lost the ability to trust- he couldn't physically bring himself to do it.

But then Phil Coulson appeared. Phil Coulson taught him, slowly yet ceaselessly how to trust again, and showed him that his terrible, terrible gift, the perfect marksmanship, could be used for something good. Phil Coulson showed him that he was good enough. He taught him to talk to people again, and he taught him that everyone made mistakes. Phil Coulson taught him not to be angry- because Clint could have broken out of Fury's hands and killed Richard Green if he had wanted him to. But he hadn't wanted to, so he didn't. Phil Coulson had taught him that his once tall, strong, _terrifying_ father had demised into this gluttonous, week, crippled being.

So Clint also lunged up to the cell, pushing his hands through the bars and grasped his father by the collar of his straining shirt.

"I'm not scared of you anymore. And I will never, _ever_ be like you." He hissed.

Harold Barton looked at his son, with the dark intensity in his eyes and the strength of his character. His son had grown- he was no longer a short, weak little eight year-old. Now he was stronger, strong enough to harm his father if he wanted to. And he sure wanted to- but he didn't. And this was the difference between Clint and Harold Barton.

Clint let go of his father, and the old man staggered and fell. He turned to find Phil standing a short distance away.

"I came to stop you killing him." Phil said shortly as the archer approached him.

"I wasn't going to." Clint replied firmly.

Phil nodded. "I know that now."

Clint turned his back on the man that called himself his father, and left. From the doorway, Fury looked on in something that might have been pride.

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Clint collapsed into the couch of Phil's apartment, and the older man took a seat opposite.

"So," Phil said, "Thoughts?"

Clint sighed, and straightened up, his expression hard to read. "Phil, am I like my father?"

Phil frowned. "With the anger?" Clint nodded.

Phil fought to keep his face neutral. He didn't know what had happened in the cells, but he suspected that whatever had been said contributed to Clint's uncertainties now. However, he knew that what Phil himself had said after Clint's first attack on Richard Green had _certainly_ contributed. And Phil felt guilty.

"Clint, if you had wanted, you could have killed your father. You could have killed Richard Green. Hell you could have killed any of these people if you had wanted to- but you didn't. Just because you lose control when you get really angry doesn't mean you're like him, Clint. Your father hurt people weaker than him because he could. I know you would never do that."

Clint heaved a sigh that sounded too big for his body, but smiled tiredly. "I never took contracts for children. Tchoverick got especially mad about that."

"Did you know he'd get mad?" Phil asked.

"Of course. But I wasn't going to do what he wanted just because he was bigger and stronger." Clint replied firmly.

Phil smiled slowly. "See? You never gave up, you were just trying less."

Clint smiled back briefly.

Phil got to his feet, and Clint followed suit. "So we have some time to kill, and I hear the climbing wall's free. Interested?"

"You even have to ask?" Clint replied, already half way out of the door.

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This time Phil remembered to bring a stopwatch, and as expected, Clint broke SHIELD's record. Phil then challenged him to use only the blue holds, and then the red holds and so on. Clint had had a chance to show of his phenomenal upper body strength, and was able to hold his own weight easily with one arm, to swing from one hold to the next and launch himself up the wall. An hour and a half later, Clint and Phil found themselves sitting at the top.

"So I was talking to Eric Yale yesterday." Phil began, watching was the apprehension grew on Clint's face. "And he and I would like to do your implants before you leave for advanced training."

The apprehension grew into a mixture of fear and anger.

"But that's only a week from now!" Clint protested.

"Yes, but it will be so much better once it's done." Phil said patiently.

"Well that's all very easy for you to say!" Clint cried. "So many things could go wrong- I could end up properly deaf so that nothing will work, they could- they could do anything to me while I'm asleep. How am I meant to trust some random people with needles and blades near my head? What if- what if-"

Phil held one hand out calmingly and laid the other on his shoulder. "Clint, calm."

Clint brought his knees up to his chest and took one shuddering breath. "I don't want it." He said finally, so quietly Phil barely heard him.

"Listen to me. There don't have to be any needles- he could knock you out with gas if you want. It's not a difficult operation, it won't go wrong, and it will barely hurt at all. I trust Eric Yale with my life, so I'd trust him with yours as well. I would only ever let anyone do anything you if I trusted them completely, you know that, right?" Phil finished, tightening his grip on Clint's shoulder.

Clint swallowed hard, and shuddered.

"I will be there when you go to sleep, and I will be there when you wake up. Nothing will go wrong." Phil promised.

Clint looked Phil in the eye and saw nothing but honesty. Hesitantly, he nodded.

Phil flashed him a grin. "Good. Now, let's get down, and I dare you to climb up on only the yellow holds."

Clint was immediately distracted. "Yellow?" He exclaimed, "But there are only like, seven on the _whole_ wall!"

Phil openly laughed. "Good! You might actually find it a challenge!"

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Clint was sitting in the hospital bed, dressed in a loose t-shirt and a pair of navy sweat pants.

"The operation will last an hour at the most. We're knocking you out with gas, so you don't use any of your renowned crazy ninja moves on me. Nothing will go wrong." Eric explained in his usual brash, slightly sarcastic tone. "Take your hearing aids out, and then we'll gas you." Clint didn't seem to appreciate the humour.

He exchanged a look with Phil, which portrayed all his badly masked nerves. "It's going to be absolutely fine." Phil said.

Clint's brow furrowed and he sighed heavily, but took his hearing aids out with shaking hands and put them in his pocket. The effect was immediate- silence engulfed him and panic spilled over his face. Phil gripped him by the shoulder, tipping up his chin so that Clint would look him in the eye. He didn't say anything- he didn't need to. The message was clear enough. _Stay calm, everything's going to be fine. _

"Grip his hand, and tell me when he stops gripping you back." Eric said, moving the mask towards Clint's face.

Phil took Clint's hand, and pushed him by his shoulder so that he was lying down. His eyes drifted closed, and Phil reflected that the hand gripping hadn't been anything he had come across in his brief SHIELD medical course. But Clint relaxed at the touch, and Phil realised that for the very first time, Eric Yale may have actually empathised with one of the panicked human beings on his operating table. Clint really did seem to bring out the best in people.

Whiteness filled Clint's vision, and he slipped out of consciousness.

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"Clint? Hey kid, can you hear me?"

Clint opened his eyes slowly, waiting for the blurred shapes around him to focus.

"Clint?"

Clint jerked upright, only to double over a moment later, clutching his head and groaning.

There was an exasperated sight to his left.

Clint turned gingerly to find Phil sitting beside his bed. "How are you feeling?" The older agent asked asked.

"Like someone has shoved tiny pieces of metal inside my head." Clint moaned.

Phil smirked, and Eric entered the room and stood at the end of the bed.

"So, the operation went fine. The implants are in a very inner part of your ear. I would explain how they work but the science is probably too advanced for you." Clint glared. "There's no reason for you to turn them off, but if you did want to you can do so with a Bluetooth device on your phone, which you'll receive after you pass advanced training. Your headache will pass over the next day or so- if the pain gets too bad, take some of your everyday painkillers. If you break them I'll kick your ass. Have a nice day." And then Eric left.

There was silence for a moment, before Phil said, "He doesn't really… get people." He said lamely. Clint rolled his eyes.

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"So," Phil said as they entered his apartment. "What do you want to do now?"

"Train." Clint said immediately, heading back for the door.

He was stopped my Phil's hand on his shoulder. The older man steered him over to the sofa and pushed him so that he sat down. "Most certainly not. Anyway, I don't want you to over do it- pulling a muscle now would make advanced training much harder." Phil sat beside Clint on the sofa.

"How is it?" Phil asked.

Clint rubbed his ears self consciously. "Comfier. I feel like less of a liability."

"Clint, you were never-"Phil began, but Clint cut him off hurriedly.

"I know I know. Cue deep, emotional speech."

Phil rolled his eyes. "Are you worried about advanced training?"

"No." Clint said quickly, looking at the floor.

Phil sighed. "Right. Well even if you were, you don't need to be. You're perfectly prepared."

Clint nodded, not looking up.

"Hey, as we have some time to kill, why don't we watch the other two Lord of the Rings films?" Phil asked.

Clint looked up, grinning slightly. "You have it?"

"You even need to ask?"

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"I don't even remember half that stuff happening." Clint said, perplexed as he and Phil sat down to eat pizza.

"Maybe because it was in English, not Norwegian?" Phil suggested, grinning.

"Hey, my Norwegian is good enough to understand the basic plot." Clint protested.

"How many languages do you speak?" Phil asked curiously.

Clint hesitated for a moment, counting on his fingers. "I don't know. Eighteen, maybe. But not all fluently." He said finally.

Phil shook his head slowly, smiling. Clint was, to put it simply, phenomenally good at a lot of things- in fact, there didn't seem to be many things that Clint couldn't do. And yet the boy himself didn't seem to realise that.

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Hi! So I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I was a bit stuck at first because I wasted to split it into two separate chapters, but this made them too short, and I would have felt bad for rewarding your three day wait with only a couple thousand words.

So this was fun to write. The scene with Harold is mentioned briefly in A Childhood Lost (which you should totally go and check out by the way, if you haven't already.) I really, really wanted Phil, Nick or Clint to punch Harold in the face but I figured this would be a backwards step for Phil teaching him to stop with the "hit and think later" thing. Also that would make him too like his father. But wow, it was tempting.

Clint will soon be embarking on his epic journey to advanced training in the next chapter or so, and we will be Phil-less for a while (oh no). However Clint will be meeting some new people, one of which will make her mark.

I have a couple of ideas coming up, one of which struck me at about 2am and then I was so excited I didn't sleep for the next four hours or so. I'm working on the summary, which I'll post once I'm finished. The other is a lot more sketchy, and although I do intend on doing it, I really need your help. I was going to do the whole "What happened after shawarma/ is Phil dead or not/ how will Clint react/ will they move into Stark tower/ what will SHIELD do about the whole Loki think, will they still trust Clint", etcetera. However, I really don't know whether to do it as part of the A Childhood Lost universe of the typical Movie-verse. I don't want to make it too similar to the other fics written about this kind of thing, but I'm not too worried about that as I think I have some original ideas. But I don't know how having children along with the Avengers would change the team dynamics. Maybe I could do two versions? But then they might be too similar, and therefore boring. So basically, any advice is welcomed.

So thank you for reading! Please review, even if it's just to say you read the chapter. Thanks very, very much to all the reviews- and the followers! I now have 44, which is more than my other stories, THANK YOU!

So chapter 8 should be up in 3 days time, maybe with some summaries for the other stories. Thanks you!

PS. I brought a new keyboard equipped with lovely functioning shift buttons, so I can stop complaining about all that. Also I've started watching Supernatural. Help me.

Bye!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer- I don't own the Avengers

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Although Clint didn't want it to, the remaining part of the week passed quickly. He spent the night before his departure tossing and turning, before giving up sleep all together and heading for the deck. He sat as close to the edge as he could, and stared into the water churning below him.

Clint couldn't help thinking about how much everything had changed. And for once, it was a good change. He had spent his first night on the Helicarrier up on the deck, but the circumstances then had been entirely different. Clint actually _trusted_ Phil- and he could never explain how much of a big thing that was. Because even before his mother's death, Clint had never really trusted anyone. But he knew Phil had his back, and that was a good feeling.

Quiet footsteps approached him from behind, and Clint turned to see Jane Griffin.

She smiled. "Can I join you?"

Clint shrugged, and then nodded. "How did you know I was here?" Clint asked as she sat down.

"It was just a feeling." Jane replied.

Clint nodded. Minutes passed in silence, with them both just staring out to sea.

"How are you?" Jane asked.

Clint hesitated. Then he nodded. "I'm good."

Jane smiled. "Hearing ok?"

"It's good, I like it." Clint said, smiling slightly as well.

"How are you feeling about advanced training?"

Clint hesitated again, focusing on the horizon. "Phil won't tell me about it too much… well he's not allowed to, but I don't like the uncertainty. I don't want to fail. But… I trust Phil to prepare me for whatever's going to happen."

Jane nodded. "You got it. Failure is nothing to be afraid of- if you don't complete it you can just try again next time, if you want to. No one is going to be mad at you."

Clint nodded too, and smiled slowly.

Jane sighed, and moved to stand. "Well, it's not too late to get a few more hours sleep in. Are you coming?"

"I'll be there in a minute." Clint said. He listened to Jane walk away, and the hatch slammed shut.

Clint sure as hell wasn't going to fail advanced training. He still had something to prove- to Green and all the other recruits, to the senior agents who didn't quite approve, to his father and all the others who said that he would never become anything. To Phil, Fury and Jane, who saw something more in him than a merciless assassin. None of them had seen anything yet.

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After another ten minutes or so, Clint returned back into the Helicarrier. He was leaving in an hour so decided to head up to Phil's apartment to see whether he was awake.

The recruits left for advanced training with nothing but the clothes they were wearing, and even then, once they arrived they would be provided with new clothes- just one set for an entire month. Clint wasn't at all bothered about this. During his childhood he hadn't exactly had an overly extensive wardrobe, but as he grew older he often fell into theft to combat his poverty. But even so, he had never had many belongings as he travelled light.

Advanced training took place in some facilities on an island in an unknown location- Clint suspected Phil knew where it was, but he didn't tell him, and nor was he allowed to. They trained there for four weeks before leaving the island for an extreme environment to perform practice missions.

Phil opened the door after Clint had knocked only once, and beckoned the teenager inside.

"Did you sleep?" Phil asked after they sat on the couch.

Clint was sat facing him, cross-legged. "Not really. I went onto the deck- Jane was there."

Phil nodded.

For the next half an hour they talked about unimportant things. Clint was impressed how easily Phil kept up the small talk, and although for the life of him Clint couldn't remember what no earth they had talked about, he was distracted for an entire thirty minutes.

After this, however, Clint grew quieter and more withdrawn. His eyes kept flickering to the digital clock on the DVD player, and his responses became shorter.

Phil clapped in on the shoulder and said they should get going. He much preferred being early than late and the waiting around wasn't doing Clint any good.

The corridors were very nearly deserted, and they arrived in the hanger to find three figured waiting beside a quinjet. Firstly there was Agent Sampson who nodded at Clint and smiled briefly. Then there was an unfamiliar woman with dark hair drawn tightly back into a ponytail, and sharp, unemotional features. Finally, there was a figure Clint hadn't expected to see- Director Fury. Phil also looked somewhat surprised, but didn't comment.

The two new arrivals stood a short distance away and watched as the recruits trickled in. Firstly there was a woman with dark hair, a massive grin and an easy, relaxed air. And then came two identical men of a medium height and build with curly blond locks and deep tans. Finally appeared a man with black hair that stood up in all directions as if he had been electrocuted. He was tall and very thin, with stick like limbs that looked as if he would fall over in a high wind. They were followed by an older agent whom Clint took to be their handler.

"So," Sampson began. "This is all of us. Cue the emotional goodbyes- you won't be seeing this place for another month, if all goes well. When you're done, come aboard." Sampson and the other agent entered the quinjet.

"Good luck." Fury said, his eyes lingering on Clint longer than the others before stepping back in a swirl of black leather.

Phil turned to Clint, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, I'll see you in a month."

Clint smiled back briefly, and nodded. "Sure." Not exactly one for emotional goodbyes- or goodbyes at all, as Clint usually ran off before anyone had realised that he was gone- Clint boarded the jet.

He took a seat just behind the middle of the quinjet, hoping that the other recruits would sit in front of him. Gradually they entered, and Clint glared at them until they sat in front.

Sampson gave Fury and Phil a wave before heaving the door closed. The other agent entered the cockpit, and the jet ascended into the sky.

"Right, gather round." Sampson said. "Barton, move forward, they won't bite."

Clint glared half heartedly, but moved into a seat opposite the twins.

"Right, we'd better introduce ourselves." Sampson said. "That's Agent Davies, and she's my second in command." The agent in the cockpit gave a vague wave, before making slight adjustments to their course.

"I'm Agent Sampson, and I'm in charge of advanced training. You will call me Agent or sir at all times, and do whatever I tell you to do. Advanced training isn't going to be easy. It will probably be one of the hardest things you will ever do. There are no days off, no set hours, and if you do something wrong you will do it again until you do it right. You are free to leave at any time, but once you have done so, you will not return until next time. There's no shame in failure, but we encourage you not to drop out- you don't want to go through all of this for a second time. This month will not only teach you to be a better agent, but to develop better team skills also. By the end, you will be prepared for anything." Agent Sampson finished seriously.

There was a pause for everything to sink in before one of the twins spoke. "Well, we're Chris and Kieran Carter. We're twenty-three years old and are training to become field agents."

"And who is who?" Asked the woman, raising an eyebrow.

One of them smirked. "I'm Kieran.

"And I'm Chris." Said the other.

"But if you tell us apart, you get twenty bucks. Hell, even our mother often couldn't do it." Kieran said, grinning.

The cheerful woman grinned back. "You're on" She said. "But anyway, I'm Rachel Jackson. Twenty two years old, training to become a kick-ass pilot." Rachel was tanned, with long brown hair and brown eyes.

"Linus Fitz." Said the younger man with crazy hair. His eyes were bright and excited, and he occasionally jumped up and down in his seat, looking almost like a gangly, hyperactive spider. "Twenty years old, training to become an engineer."

They all turned to Clint, who glared back. "Clint Barton." He said finally, keeping his face blank. "Training to become a field agent."

"And how old are you?" Rachel asked insistently.

"What does it matter?" Clint shot back sharply, curling his hands into fists as his glare intensified.

"Hey, your freaky ass glare doesn't scare me kid." Rachel replied, grinning despite herself.

Clint went to argue, but Sampson cut in, trying not to smile. "Alright, enough. Depending on the training exercises, you may have to work in pairs, or bigger groups. So the Carter twins are together along with Fitz, and Barton, please don't kill Jackson."

Clint internally groaned. Rachel sent him the most irritating grin possible.

Sampson moved into the co-pilot's seat and an easy conversation started among the recruits.

"Yeah so he followed me to collage and then followed my into the military-"One of the twins began, but was interrupted by the other.

"Well actually it we me who joined the army first-"

"It was not."

"Was too.

"Was not-"

"Are you gonna tell the story?" Rachel asked, her voice layered with amusement.

"Yeah, well anyway." Chris/Kieran cleared his throat. "So we decided the military wasn't quite what we were looking for. So after watching Men in Black we tried for the CIA, and after being awesome there for a while SHIELD came along."

Rachel nodded. "My story's similar. I was a pilot in the RAF and after a tricky extraction mission in Sudan, SHIELD recruited me."

"I don't have any military experience." Linus admitted. "But SHIELD recruited me after my internship at Stark Industries."

"You've met Tony Stark?" Rachel demanded, her eyes wide.

"I don't like Tony Stark" Chris/Kieran said, frowning.

"When he's working on something, away from the outside eye, he's nothing like what he's like on the media. He's a fantastic engineer." Linus said enthusiastically.

"Damn I would love to meet Tony Stark" Rachel said wistfully.

Chris and Kieran smirked.

Clint didn't join in their conversation. Instead he moved into the seat closest to the window, and looked outside. Their voices were replaced by the patter of rain, and Clint struggled to stay awake due to the lull of the engine. But he forced his eyes to stay open, refusing to sleep in the company of others.

The sun rose to reveal the ocean- there was no land in sight, and the weather cleared.

Clint didn't know how long they were in the air for, but after a few hours Sampson appeared again and gave them all sandwiches. A while after a small island came into view. Agent Davies lowered the quinjet and Clint could pick out the features. The majority of the landscape was covered in trees, and the coast was littered with coves, beaches and towering cliffs.

The other recruits yawned and stretched, and everyone got to their feet. Sampson led the way off the quinjet.

They had landed on a dusty airstrip surrounded by trees. About two hundred metres ahead was a small clearing with two small buildings built of red brick. They entered the building on the left, and found a small common area with a pool table, and two doors, one leading into a small canteen and the other leading into a short corridor. In this corridor were three doors on the right hand side, and two on the left.

"You will be taking room number one. There will be six named beds with a chest underneath containing your basic equipment. Respect each other; if you argue then you sort it out yourselves. The washing facilities are at the end of the corridor in room five. I'm in room two and Agent Davies is in room four, but we don't want you knocking on our doors in the middle of the night for any crisis less important than somebody dying. Understood?" They nodded. "Right. Sort everything out in your rooms, dinner will be in the canteen in half an hour."

Their room was fairly long and narrow, but didn't feel overly enclosed due to the large skylight. Clint's bed was situated beside the window at the end of the room, with Rachel to his right. Once again, he groaned. The twins were in the middle of the room, with Linus and a spare bed at the other end.

Their wooden chests contained some clothes and basic equipment which Clint inspected briefly before heading to the canteen.

In the canteen there was a kitchen area where a large, dark skinned woman was cooking, and then a dining room area with two square tables.

Due to the seating arrangements, Clint actually had to sit with other people for once, with the recruits taking one table and Sampson, Davies and the cook taking the other.

Clint ate quietly, and quickly, not taking part in the other's discussions. He left just as Rachel tried to engage him in conversation.

Clint returned to the room, and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

He wasn't sure how he was feeling about the entire situation. He was no longer so cripplingly afraid of failing, and the other recruits seemed no more experienced than he. Although a number of them had been in military settings, he also had experiences with firing a gun, to say the least. However he hadn't worked in a team setting in a long time, and certainly didn't trust anyone else to watch his back, apart from possibly Phil. He was also worried about sleeping in the same room as other people. It was an unnerving, unfamiliar situation.

They door suddenly opened and Rachel leaned into the room. "Hey, we're gonna play pool. Do you wanna come?"

Clint frowned. "I'm alright."

Rachel shrugged. "Whatever man. I guess team Barack will be going solo for the moment."

Clint rose so that he was leaning on his elbows. "Team what?"

"Barack. Barton and Jackson. It's our new team name. It was actually very hard to create- I considered Clinchel but it sounded like an STI, Rint sounded like some sort of mould and Barjack doesn't have the ring. I get that Barack is already taken, but..." Rachel trailed off, shrugging aimlessly. Clint just stared. "Well yeah, anyway. Adios." Rachel closed the door.

Clint rolled his eyes.

In the end he must have actually fallen asleep, as he was woken up again by a flurry of movement as the other recruits entered the room. The sky had darkened, and Clint squinted at his watch face to discover that it was ten o'clock already.

The other recruits didn't seem to have any problem changing in front of each other, though Clint was the first into his pyjamas.

The bathroom reminded Clint of a school toilet, with showers curtained off at the end of the room, cubicles to the left and sinks to the right. There was a small shelf where they found a pack of six multicoloured toothbrushes, and a few bottles of unisex shampoo and shower gel.

"Unisex shampoo?" One of the twins asked.

"You can actually get that?" The other added.

"And no conditioner." Rachel observed in dismay. "I'm going to end up frizzier than a poodle in a tumble drier." She suddenly stabbed a finger in Clint's face, making him flinch. "A smile!" She yelled. "I made him smile! Ten points to Jackson!" And then she waltzed into a cubicle.

The remaining recruits exchanged a glance. "She's crazy." Linus stated blandly. Everyone nodded.

Clint was the first to brush his teeth and the first back into his bed.

However, he wasn't the first to sleep. In fact, lay awake long after the others. After a while he gave up lying still and crept out of the room.

He explored the rest of the building but found nothing new. Room three was a bunkroom like theirs, but was empty, and the beds were bare. He was surprised that the outside door was open; inferring that this meant the rest of the island was unoccupied.

The other building was locked, but by peering through the windows Clint could see lots of important looking locked crates, and a row of rifles hanging upon the opposite wall. It seemed to be some sort of storage space.

Clint wanted to have a look over some of the rest of the island, but was slightly worried about getting lost, or stumbling into somewhere he wasn't supposed to go- the last thing he wanted was the shame of being sent back to the Helicarrier.

Instead Clint climbed onto the top of the storage building, and sat cross-legged on the flat roof.

They must have been far, far away from any civilisation, as the sky was fresh and free of light pollution. The stars were clearer than Clint had ever seen before, and were more like tiny torches instead of pinpricks of light. The feeling of being away from everyone else was fantastic and very much like what he used to daydream of.

The sky darkened from navy to pitch black, and the stars stood out even brighter. The air was fresh, and just a little chilly for his pyjamas which consisted of solely a lose black t-shirt and black shorts.

He was startled out of his peaceful state of mind by a sharp voice from the ground. "Barton, get down."

Clint internally swore, and jumped down from the roof, landing easily in a crouch.

Sampson caught sight of Clint's wariness, and his expression softened. "You're not in trouble," He said, "But I would prefer it if you slept in a bed, not on the roof. Back inside now."

Clint nodded, running his hand through his hair tiredly.

"Just because the doors are unlocked doesn't mean I don't know when one of you goes walkabout." Sampson said amusedly as Clint reached the bunkroom door. "See you tomorrow Barton, bright and early."

Clint didn't miss Rachel's curious look as he closed the door carefully behind him. But neither of them commented, and he slept soundly that night.

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Hello! So Clint has departed for Advanced training at last! It was fun creating new characters- originally there were seven, but they all got whittled down in the various editing stages. It also took me ages to come up with a name for Linus' character- I've gone through too many to count. I wanted it to be unusual as he's an eccentric guy, but I'm still not entirely happy with it, though I went with it anyway because I'd ran out of ideas.

I'm not used to this kind of writing style- the next few chapter will be a lot more action than psychology-ish hurt comfort kind of stuff, and it is pretty far out of my comfort zone. However this is Marvel, and I feel like I have to have some action somewhere! So I apologise if my writing goes a bit off, but I'll try my best.

Rachel was never meant to turn out so strange, it just kind of happened. However her purpose is for Clint to learn how to develop a relationship with someone other than Phil- however, I'm sad to say there will be no romance.

In other news, I haven't yet finalized the summaries but I hope to have them ready by the next update. I've decided to probably do the story set after the film as part of the A Childhood Lost universe, however I've realised that although I have lost of ideas I don't yet know how to fit it all together, and I'm going to focus more on the idea that I'm extremely excited about, which doesn't yet have any kind of name.

So, thank you for reading! Please follow and review- I'm nearly at 50 followers, which is amazing! Thanks so much for the reviews, I love reading then and the support is fantastic. Thank you!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer- I don't own the avengers.

Warning- Language.

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It was certainly early, but too early to be bright. The recruits were awoken by Sampson barging in at half four the next morning, though Clint was awake once Sampson got out of his own bed across the hall.

"Shake a leg." Sampson said cheerfully as the other recruits groaned. "Dress for warm weather today folks and meet me in the kitchen in half an hour."

Clint was once again ready before the others, and was dressed and showered even before Chris/Kieran had managed to brush his teeth.

He waited twenty three minutes for the kitchen to open up, and was the first inside.

"I feel like a grotty slug." Rachel announced as she collapsed into the seat beside Clint.

Clint raised an eyebrow.

Rachel grinned. "A facial reaction. Five points."

Clint stabbed at his porridge. "So there's a point system now?" He asked slowly.

Rachel's eyes widened. "Speaking! I got you to speak! Twenty points! Thirty five points on the second day, doing well Jackson."

Clint rolled his eyes.

Once everyone had eaten, Sampson began to hand round some maps and compasses. "Today we're going to start off with an orienteering exercise. You each have a different route, but they all end up at the summit of the mountain in the centre of the island. You all have half an hour to do as you please, and then we'll be setting off."

The recruits cleared out of the room, with everyone but Clint and Linus going off for a quick game of pool, the latter heading for the bedroom.

Clint climbed back onto the roof, but found that it wasn't tall enough. He then picked the tallest tree, and worked his way up until he was sitting on the highest of branches that could take his weight.

Relaxed, and swaying his legs Clint compared his map to the surrounding area. He had to travel along the coast line for four miles before working his way inland and across something that looked like a swamp. From here he had to ascend up the mountain side. All in all it was about seventeen miles.

The half an hour was up, and they assembled on the airstrip.

"Agent Davies and I will be touring the island, though you shouldn't see us. I will get to the summit for eight o'clock, and I'd like you to get there before ten. The first one there wins- Good luck!" The moment Sampson finished talking, Clint left, diving into the forest on the left hand side. He planned to cut across the forest to hit the shore quicker.

The trees soon closed in, hiding the airstrip from view. The last thing he saw was Linus head off down the airstrip, and the rest of them milling around trying to decipher their routes.

The trees weren't enclosed enough to block out the light, and the foliage was bright, green and well lit. With the aid of the map, compass and sound of the sea, Clint soon came to the shore.

The sun had risen, and the sky was a pale, washed out shade of blue. This was the easiest past of the route so Clint took off running. He simply had too keep running past the jetty, and then turn inland once the short started curving sharply to the right.

Clint folded his map into his pocket and hung the compass round his neck. It was nice to run again- as in, properly run, not around an enclosed SHIELD training room. Clint was good at running. He was fast, and could keep running fast for a very, very long time. The sand crunched beneath his feet, the air whiled in his hair and small waves lapped at the shore. His hearing aids would not have picked up such insignificant sounds. Smiling slightly, Clint picked up speed.

He passed the jetty quickly, and the temperature was getting hotter.

The beach began to get a little stonier, so Clint ran closer to the sea where the stones were smaller, and there were longer stretches of clear sand. Very suddenly he flinched, and turned to see a figure standing among the trees. A moment later he identified the long, Boromir like hair- it was Sampson. Clint relaxed, and carried on running.

A little over an hour later, Clint climbed another tree to get his whereabouts and took off into the forest again. He was now walking, following his compass carefully. Phil's sparing techniques reminded him of the Ent message- Don't be hasty. And Clint used it now. He wanted to be first, but knew he didn't have to be- as long as he wasn't last, it would be fine. Clint believed he had made enough time on the beach run to walk slower now, and the last thing he wanted was to get lost.

Clint reached the swamp at seven o'clock, so took a moment to plan out his route. He knew that going straight across it, although being the most direct approach, would leave him wet and muddy, and therefore slow down the rest of his journey. At the same time, going all the way around would be twice as long. Clint frowned and scratched his head. The left side of the swamp was a lot drier, and was covered in light vegetation, including spindly, twig like trees.

From the other side of the swamp, Clint could see Davies. Internally, he shrugged. What the hell- he may as well give her a show.

Clint took a run up and launched himself into the first tree. He ran down the length of a branch and catapulted himself onto the next tree. This landing wasn't quite as dignified as he powered into the leafless branches, wincing as they scratched his arms.

He hung from one of the branches, pushing his body backwards and then swinging himself forwards into the next branch. He caught this one easier, as graceful as Beth Tweddle in a tree above a swamp. He launched himself across the next three trees, and landed on the other side of the swamp with nothing more than a few scratches.

Clint openly grinned. He hadn't done such crazy things since the circus. Clint reached into his pocket, and his grin vanished. _Where was the map?_

Swearing internally, Clint whirled around. When had he last had it? Not before the tree swinging. Had he actually put it in his pocket? What if it was all the way on the other side? What if- _wait_.

Clint's hawk-ish eyesight picked up a small, pale piece of paper just below the tree closest to him. Well, at least it wasn't all the way on the other side. It was, however, sinking.

Cursing again, Clint clambered back into the tree. He hung from one hand, trying to snag the map with the other to no avail. Swearing out loud now, Clint spun round so that his knees were hooked over the branch. He stretched for the map, and nearly whooped out loud as he caught it. He somersaulted back onto his feet, and consulted the map again. Well that had been eventful.

The map said he simply had to go directly south, so after setting his compass, Clint set off at a light jog. Even from here he could just see the top of the mountain, and so wasn't too worried about following the map. He folded the now soggy piece of paper into his pocket carefully.

The forest began to thicken, and the sunlight found it hard to dwindle its way through the enclosed leaves. Clint used the light from his watch to illuminate the compass, and stayed on track. He fought his way through thick foliage, tripped over low laying branches and got scratched by killer brambles. It was only after Clint tripped over a root and face planted a rock that he decided that there had to be a better way of doing this. He summarised that as the tree-swinging had worked pretty well over the swamp, it would work even better now when the branches were so much thicker and closer together.

Clint weaved his way up a tree, struggling not to slip on the soggy moss. After taking a moment to check his compass, Clint was off.

He had been right- running along one thick branch to the next was easy, and nothing compared to a tightrope. It was lighter, and Clint didn't trip once.

Finally the trees thinned, and Clint was rewarded with a fantastic view of the mountain. It wasn't as tall as the map implied. One side was far steeper than the other, more of a cliff face than a slope. Clint was temped to climb it, but after imagining Phil "Crushing him in a pile of metaphorical paperwork" he decided against it.

Running up the summit was easy, as although there wasn't a path, the ground was only covered in grass, and it was easy to negotiate a route.

Once Clint got more than halfway up the mountain, the terrain changed- the grass vanished and the ground was covered in mud that crumbled easily. But Clint discovered that running meant Clint could move his foot before the ground eroded beneath his feet, and if he stepped lightly, it was far easier.

From here he could see the entire north side of the island. There were a few clearings that he hadn't come by, one of which looked like it had targets set up in it. He could see a couple of new buildings, but the island looked largely uninhabited. There was a very large lake to the east, and Clint could see Rachel falling into the swamp.

Clint grinned, and moved on.

Before long the summit came fully into sight. It was a small, grassy clearing, with a few trees to the left hand side. Leaning on one of these trees with a pair of binoculars, now watching Rachel pull herself out of the swamp like a drowned rat, was Sampson.

He turned, grinning wildly as Clint approached. "That was fantastic! That was classic entertainment."

Clint smiled slightly, and glanced at his watch.

"It's half seven. Damn I haven't seen someone do the course that well in a long time." Sampson said, clapping Clint on the back. Clint tensioned, but only marginally. "There are several things that slow them down. Getting stuck in the swamp is what Rachel has just demonstrated- it's a lot deeper than it looks. Or they go round the outside, which takes far longer than they expect. I've only seen one other guy do your monkey trick, and he just fell in. Getting the map back was entertaining, I though you were going to have to swim for it." Sampson smirked, and then continued. "Or they get lost, delayed or injured in the forest. But in stead you used your past experiences to aid your present ones- a fantastic skill. You ran the beach stretch as fast as a marathon runner. Damn kid, what does Phil feed you?" Sampson was reduced to shaking his head in awe.

Sampson handed Clint a water bottle from the cool box, which Clint drank in one go and then accepted another. "I don't normally even come up her this early. But then Agent Davies radioed to say you were being a monkey over the swamp so…" Sampson shook his head, grinning again.

"What do I do now?" Clint asked, not responding to the praise.

"Just wait around I'm afraid. I don't reckon we'll get anyone coming in for at least half an hour." Sampson said, bringing his binoculars up to his face again.

Clint nodded, sitting himself down, leaning back against a tree.

The view was fantastic. He could see the entire island and most of the other islands also. The air was still fresh from the early hour, but the day had also warmed up. Clint yawned.

A combination of his tiredness due to the early morning trek and his late hour to bed the night before and his relaxedness despite being in the company of another person actually sent him to sleep.

Sampson watched Clint fall asleep, frowning. From what he had seen, Clint was brilliant. But he was far, far too quiet and wary, and Sampson wondered how someone learnt to do all these things at just seventeen years old. It was worrying.

At that moment, Rachel came staggering up the mountain side. Clint jerked awake in time to see her reach the summit, gasping for breath. She accepted a water bottle from Sampson, and was listening to what he was saying for a few moments. Clint couldn't hear what he was saying, and couldn't lip read as he was facing the other way, but judging her wide, exhausted grin, it must have been something positive.

Rachel lay down a short way away from Clint, and for once she actually didn't speak.

Sampson came over carrying a map, a stopwatch and a pair of binoculars. "Barton, do you think you could give me a hand?" He asked. "I would ask Jackson but I think she needs some time out."

Clint looked up at him warily, and then stood up, nodding.

"Right, I want you to track the Carter's. They have different routes and each route has three checkpoints each. I want you to watch them and mark down the time that they reach each checkpoint, and calculate how long it takes for them to get from one checkpoint to the next. Understand?"

Clint nodded and took the things.

The map said that Chris would go east once leaving the camp, travelling round the mountain over to the far side of the lake. He would then make his way across the lake and up the mountain. Through his binoculars, Clint could see one of the twins, whom he assumed to be Chris swimming across the lake.

Kieran's route was a little different, with him going the other way round the mountain, through the swamp and the lake and up the mountainside. Kieran was now sinking in the swamp.

Clint lay down on his stomach at the edge of the clearing, the map in front of him, looking through his binoculars. Linus was nowhere to be seen.

Within the next half an hour, Chris made it across the lake and Kieran finally realised that remaining upright in the swamp only made him sink faster, whereas if he lay on his front he actually had a better chance of surviving. Clint rolled his eyes.

Shortly afterwards Rachel re-emerged and collapsed face down next to Clint, saying, "Sampson told me to help you." However, she didn't move from her position on the ground.

Clint was beginning to realise some differences between the twins. Kieran was far clumsier, though did seem to put some thought into his actions. Chris was faster, but had shown his impulsiveness after powering across one of the widest stretches of the lake. Clint wondered whether he could earn himself twenty dollars with this new information.

Chris reached his third checkpoint at eight thirty, with Kieran finally heaving himself out of the swamp at around the same time.

At last, Chris arrived at the finish at nine o'clock, with his brother staggering in about forty minutes later. Sampson gave them a pack of cards to occupy themselves, and Rachel even peeled herself of the ground to join in. Clint stayed where he was.

Eventually, it turned out that Linus had got very, very lost. After wondering around in circles for approximately and hour and a half, he had stumbled upon the lake, and realised he was about five miles out from where he was supposed to be- he was at the wrong end of the lake. He arrived and spectacularly collapsed at half past ten.

After giving Linus a few moments of rest, Sampson gathered them all around.

"Normally we head back to camp to have a quick snack, but sadly we are now forty minutes behind time. So instead we're going straight to the assault course." There was a chorus of groans. "If we finish before time you might be rewarded with an early lunch."

"Fitz you were thirty minutes late. Mistakes like that on the field could result in a multitude of things- your target could have moved positions, you could miss your time window, your bad guy could call for backup. This is a lesson learnt- don't be late. Don't be slow. Pull these kinds of stunts, you'll get these kind of punishments." Sampson said as they made their way down the mountain. Chris punched Linus in the arm.

The assault course was about the size of a football pitch. The obstacles were set out in a circle that curved in on itself, including a tightrope (Clint grinned) a rope ladder and what Sampson said was called the wall of death. It looked like a simple climbing wall, but had parts which flipped over as soon as you put your weight on them, dropping you into the net metres bellow, dummy handholds which spun around and boxing gloves that shot out of holes to punch you in the gut.

Clint thought it looked very fun.

They were set off in the order that they each finished the previous task, meaning that Clint left first. Once he had cleared the first three obstacles, Rachel set off after him.

The obstacles got harder as the course progressed, and Clint spent a full ten minutes in the pit, which was literally a hundred metres of mud which was up to four feet deep. By the end he was slathered in mud, making the next obstacle- the monkey bars- considerably more difficult. All in all it was gruelling. The course combined climbing, running, jumping, crawling swimming and balancing, and by the end Clint was trembling with exhaustion. However, it was also even more enjoyable than Clint thought it would be.

Clint ran down to the beach to scrape all the mud off, and by the time he arrived back Kieran had his legs stuck in the rope ladder and Rachel was crawling along the top of the monkey bars. Surprisingly, Linus had managed to show his worth- although he wasn't very strong or fast, he was very light, and fairly agile- he excelled in the obstacle course and soon passed Kieran, who had managed to free his left leg but entangle both his arms in the process.

In the end, Clint was the only one to finish the course in under an hour- 56 minutes 42.5 seconds, to be precise. However Sampson was pleased with everyone else's times as well, as no one took longer than an hour and twenty minutes.

Covered in mud, sweat and rope burns in Kieran's case, the recruits headed back to the camp. After filing into the showers and changing into a new set of clothes, the other recruits entered the kitchen. Clint however, had found a washing machine to the left of the showers, and attempted to wash the final, clinging bits of mud from his clothes. He arrived in the kitchen just as lunch was being served.

"Dude, I feel on my butt whist climbing that damn mountain, I'm worried I'll bruise." Rachel said as they were all tucking into soup.

There was a silence, as everyone stared.

"No but seriously!" She protested, "How will I sit down?"

Clint was the first to recover, and smirked.

"Five points!" Rachel yelled, pointing at him again. "Forty points, and I think the success has soothed my butt pain."

After an hour lunch break, they took a minibus along a dusty track that weaved its way through the forest to one of the buildings Clint had seen on the north side of the island.

They were taught computing by Agent Davies, who talked them through the theory, and gave them textbooks. The late afternoon was spent doing practicals. At first they simply had to hack into a computer and find a file, but afterwards they had to pick apart a circuit board and then put it together again.

Clint found it very, very boring. The other agents seemed to excel far more at it than he, with Linus finishing each task in less than ten minutes flat, and Chris not far behind. He spent the afternoon being stabbed by tiny circuit board components and swearing under his breath. This lesson was followed by bomb diffusion, which was ten times worse. After being taught the theory of the operation, the recruits were given a fake bomb and a timer. Clint's timer ran out every time.

The lesson ended with Clint feeling frustrated and angry. If it had been real life Clint would have "died" seven times, failed to find four different files and blown up a computer circuit. Yeah, he was angry.

He ate dinner quickly before returning to his room. Phil had taught him basic hacking skills, and it had gone mostly ok. But this was so much harder- there were so many more files to troll through and most of them were nearly identical. He'd never done anything with circuit boars before and had certainly never defused a bomb. The thing is, neither had the other recruits. So why had they picked it up so quickly and he hadn't? Immersed in a sudden wave of inadequacy, he turned to face the wall- something he would never normally consider doing.

Why did he find it so hard? It wasn't as if he came close to succeeding- he was literally further off than Linus' navigation attempts. Suddenly his success from the morning didn't seem at all as good. Any idiot could traipse across an island or do the tightrope. Maybe he couldn't do all those other things because he was a carnie with no education past fifth grade.

He was drowning in pessimistic thinking and didn't even realise Rachel was there until the bed sank down as she sat on it. He jumped to his feet, all rational thinking thrown out of the window and replaced with sickening memories from the orphanage. Clint backed into a corner, muscles tense, hands curled into fists, debating over fighting or running.

Rachel looked shocked. "Whoa, whoa!" She said, holding her hands up in a calming manor. "Easy! I just came to see if you were alright!"

Clint's breathing was shallow, and he didn't seem to be calming down. Rachel backed away slowly. "Hey, dude, calm down. Everything's cool, you don't need to freak out."

Rachel kept backing away until Clint's breathing slowed again. He wrapped his arms around himself, wanting to curl up in a corner but at the same time not wanting to let Rachel see him in such a weakened state. Instead he sat down heavily on his bed. Rachel approached him slowly, and when he only tensed, she sat down on her bed opposite.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was actually quiet and sincere. "I shouldn't have sneaked up on you like that."

Clint didn't reply, and refused to look her in the eye.

"I reckon this deserves some points taken away." She said sadly.

Clint very, very nearly smiled.

"Hey, everyone is shit at something you know." Rachel said, her confidence returning.

Clint looked up, confused by the change of subject.

"I mean, I'm really shit at pool, which is another reason why I came in here." She added, unabashed. "Like, I know that's why you were a mute at dinner and then you holed yourself up in here. It's ok to be shit at bomb defusing and hacking. I mean… at least you can do pool!" She finished, slightly desperate.

Clint rolled his eyes.

"I mean, ok, pool isn't, like, life or death whereas defusing kinda is a bit…. Ok defusing totally is. But seriously, Chris or Kieran- I don't even know which one- keeps teasing me and it is _seriously_ not cool." Rachel sighed. "Ok what I'm saying is a really need your help out there. I mean I've heard the rumours about you and the arrow thing so I figured pool is kinda like a bow and arrow, right?" Rachel withered slightly in Clint's incredulous look. "Ok maybe not so much. But I still reckon you can totally do it. So what if I teach you bomb and computer crap and team Barack will rule the pool table? I mean think about it. We're here for nearly an entire month! And I'm not gonna horrifically loose pool for that long, and you don't wanna fail with all the bomb/computer stuff. Deal?"

For a moment Clint just stared. He had never met anyone quite like Rachel. Even though he had literally been silent for the entire time, he felt like she had managed to start a decent two way conversation. Clint knew how to play pool. He had discovered that if he played pools in bars, the barmen didn't kick him despite the fact he didn't buy anything. And if today was anything to go by, he did need help with computer hacking and bomb diffusion.

He shrugged. "Deal."

Rachel whooped and jumped up and down. Then she pulled her wooden chest out from under her bed. "Ok so we can do an hour and a half of bomb/computer stuff a night and then an hour of pool. Ok?" Clint nodded. Rachel pulled out her textbook. "Ok." She repeated, sitting cross-legged on her bed. "The lesson begins.

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"So red wire or blue wire? Which one you gonna cut?" Rachel asked. She had taken him through the page of the textbook, paraphrasing the standard formal English into her colloquial dialect. It was distracting, but for some reason it stuck easier in Clint's head.

"Blue?" He suggested uneasily.

Rachel whooped again. "Hawkeye: 7, Bomber dude: 0. You're gonna make the coolest bomb diffuser and computer hacker _ever_."

Clint grinned and Rachel gave herself another five points. Over just the course of the lesson she had eared an entire eighty-seven points. It was very hard to stay quiet and emotionless when someone was jabbering on and on.

There was a sudden knock at the door, and Chris/Kieran burst into the room. "Ready to be thrashed at pool?" He asked, his question directed at Rachel, who grinned.

"Team Barack is ready to whup up your asses." She replied confidently.

Chris- Clint was fairly certain it wasn't Kieran- grinned back. "Whatever."

Rachel turned back to Clint. "So, do you wanna go play pool?"

Clint shrugged. "Sure."

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"I think I'm gonna keep you." Rachel said as they finished the game. True to her word, she had played terribly. So terribly that pool became a dangerous spectator's sport in Clint's mind from that day onwards. However Clint's hawk eyesight and unfailing aim had came into play, and the Carters had been absolutely thrashed.

"You know," Chris (possibly) said sneakily once Clint potted the last ball after bouncing it off three separate surfaces, "Team Carter would pay well for your services."

"We can top whatever your previous employer is by twenty four percent." His twin added.

Rachel crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. "Uh, no. I'm afraid team Barack are loyal only to each other." She turned to Clint quickly, and hissed under her breath, "Leave me and I will kill you."

Clint grinned nervously and swiftly announced that he was going to bed.

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Hello! Ok so I'm really sorry for the late update- I have no decent excuse other than I wasn't that happy with this chapter, so procrastinated with posting it. But I edited it a lot and didn't know what else could happen, so posted it anyway. There won't be many times where I explain an activity/mission/lesson situation in such detail just because it's not what I usually write and I'm worried about making in boring. However, if you enjoyed it I might do it more often- there are a couple more events similar to this which I will write in full, though.

I really don't know where team Barack and the whole point system thing came from, but I wanted Clint to loosen up a little more around someone else and decided to do it a little more humorously instead of emotionally like the whole Clint-Phil relationship.

So thank you so much for all the reviews, I love reading them :) Also thank you for reading.

Please review again because the support is brilliant :D The next update should be on time, sorry for the wait- thanks!

PS- Beth Tweddle is a British gymnast, in case that didn't make sense. I also did some research into how long it would take to do this kind of thing, though Clint runs far faster than the average person, more at the speed of an athlete.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer- I own nothing.

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On the Monday of the second week, the recruits participated in their first advanced combat training. And for the first time in a while, Clint found someone who could well and truly kick his ass.

Master Woe was a four foot eight inches elderly Chinese man, with wispy white hair and a braided beard. His lessons consisted of him taking on and taking down each of the recruits mercilessly. No moves were taught- instead they were simply expected to learn from what was used against them.

However, once Master Woe realised that Clint could almost put up a fight against him, he assigned the recruits up against his two almost as evil assistants- rumoured, but not confirmed to be his sons. He then dedicated his time to victimising Clint, cawing, "Very fun! Very fun! I like this!" as he threw the archer onto the mat repeatedly. By the end of the very first session Clint ached more than his first archery lesson, and had decided that Master Woe was just plain crazy.

"I have pulled muscles a woman should never pull." Rachel groaned as she staggered into the common area of the bunkhouse. Linus said nothing at all, but simply collapsed into one of the couches and didn't move for the next hour.

"Clint," Said Kieran as he squeezed into the space between Linus' feet and the arm rest. "If Woe keeps up at you for the next month like that, you're going to end up dead."

Chris nodded in agreement. "Either dead, or a ninja."

"But seriously, you've got some moves." Rachel croaked from where she was now lying on the floor.

"Where's you learn?" Kieran asked curiously.

Clint shrugged.

Rachel sighed. "Damn, you're so mysterious." She lifted her hair from the floor. "Linus, you alive?"

Linus just groaned.

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And so the weeks passed quickly. With physical activity such as climbing, running, agility training and parachuting (one activity that Clint looked upon with extra fondness) in the morning, followed by bomb diffusion, computer hacking and basic engineering, the time seemed to fly. Due to Rachel's help, Clint gradually improved, only dying once or twice a lesson. He was also skilled, though not quite proficient as Linus at engineering. He was particularly good at hotwiring a car.

However, the recruits had not yet ventured inside the vast network of tunnels and caves under the island. But on the third week, they found themselves on the west beach at an ungodly hour, equipped with helmets, flashlights and comm. systems.

On paper the task was simple. Without a map or any other for of navigation equipment, the recruits would work as a team to search the tunnels for a fake weapons hide out. However, after taking into account the fact that the tunnels drilled through fifteen miles of rock sometimes up to a hundred feet underground, risking collapsing tunnels and countless identical deadens, the assignment suddenly didn't seem to easy.

Clint was terrified.

The entrance to the tunnels was a small, 5ft by 2ft crack in the cliff face. From there on there was nothing by darkness penetrated only by the thin beams of their torches.

The twins entered first, one of them carrying the emergency walkie-talkie, followed closely by Linus.

Clint was next. But he didn't move. He stood back from the entrance, hands sweating, stomach rolling and his breathing steadily growing faster and shallower. It was too small and too dark. And too much like the blanket box.

"Clint?" Rachel appeared at his side, looking bewildered. She was ready, her helmet strapped on, flashlight in her belt and hair pushed back by a headband.

"Claustrophobia." Sampson replied grimly, looking at Clint with mild concern.

Rachel stared from him to the teenager. "Can you still do it?"

Clint didn't reply. He exhaled uneasily, muscle jumping in his jaw.

"I can't make you do this." Sampson said, a frown creasing his forehead. "I can't even encourage you. I'm just here to observe and see how you do."

Despite knowing about his fear of physical contact, Rachel laid her hand on Clint's shoulder. The boy stiffened, but didn't pull away.

"Clint." Rachel said, her voice softer this time. "It won't take more than a few hours. If we get lost, we still have the rest of the team, and if worse comes to worse we can just radio for help.

Clint shook his head. He was trembling now, and closed his eyes. "Will I fail if I don't do this?"

"No." Sampson said easily. "But you won't do as well as I know you can do. Than Phil knows you can do."

Clint opened his eyes.

Clint knew that Phil wouldn't put Clint in mortal peril. And Phil had entered Clint for basic training- he wouldn't have done so if he thought the archer would die.

And Clint was tired of being afraid. He no longer feared his father- so why should he fear the blanket box? Clint decided that it was time to be brave. Not in the way that his father taught him, by hiding his fear deep inside so no one could see it. But brave in the way of facing his fear instead of turning his back on it.

Shrugging off Rachel's hand, Clint nodded. The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was Sampson's ghost of a prideful smile.

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Clint turned on his flashlight and the thin beam of light illuminated the faces of the three men in front of him.

"What took you so long?" Chris grumbled.

"Flashlight wasn't working." Rachel cut in, appearing behind them. "Had to get new batteries."

Linus frowned slowly. "But these flashlights aren't battery pow-"

"Shut up." Linus withered in Rachel's killer glare, and meekly descended into silence. Clint shot her a grateful grin.

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The underground orientation exercise had been the hardest thing out of the whole of the course, aside from the missions. The torches did very little to light up the caverns until Linus managed to wire them all together to create an ingenious invention that was effectively a chandelier. It looked ridiculous, but it worked. The darkness was almost vanquished, but of course Clint could now see how enclosed the space actually was. But he contributed to the team the best he could, and warned the team to turn off the chandelier once they approached the secret weapons hide out. The hide out consisted of Agent Sampson and Agent Davies, who put up a decent fight but were soon defeated by the six younger agents equipped with their new combat skills. The team then surveyed the area and radioed its location back to their imaginary handler, before towing their prisoners back through the tunnels. Chris later insisted that the amount of times Sampson's head was hit against the rock ceiling was accidental, and nothing to do with the five extra miles he had been given on their morning run after he had woken up half an hour late the week before. Nobody was fooled.

Clint's chest tightened as the crack of daylight finally appeared, and his breath quickened as it grew closer. He was the first one outside, and he stumbled over to where the rocks gave way to sand and collapsed to the ground. He could vaguely feel the others milling around him before Rachel said something rather offensive to get them all to go away.

Rachel sat beside him and prattled on about a load of nonsense as the fear inside him gradually gave way to pride.

"Are you really taking about a childhood boyfriend?" Clint asked once his heartbeat slowed enough.

"Fifth grade." She replied. "Johan Fink. He was an asshole." She pulled Clint to his feet, and they began to walk steadily back to the based camp.

"You say that about a lot of people." Clint commented slowly. The beach was deserted, and Clint supposed everyone had gone back for lunch.

"I _know_ I say that about a lot of people. But I'm telling you, this guy was an actual asshole. Literally a butt crater."

Clint burst out laughing.

"Twenty points to Jackson!" She whooped. "But seriously Clint, he went off with another woman. I think my heart broke."

"But you were what… ten?" He asked.

"Eleven. Broken hearted, Clint."

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The recruits soon learnt to be constantly alert. Sampson seemed to enjoy sneak attacks at any hour of the day such as bursting into the bunk room at two in the morning wielding a knife. However the least favourite early morning interruption was definitely the night time surprise exercises or the extra five miles added to their runs if Sampson deemed something unsatisfactory. As time passed both him and agent Davies became stricter, punishing them for things they would not have done so before. Everything ran in a similar fashion, the only new event being the introducing of interrogation training. Clint told them nothing, but Rachel pointed out that this wasn't much to go by as Clint never really talked anyway.

But slowly, this became more of a lie. Clint talked mostly to Rachel, and her points were now in the thousands. Their conversations were never of anything important, but this was what Clint enjoyed most about them. Not since his very early childhood had he talked about things as pointless as snails on steroids or square circles.

Chris and Kieran were easy to get on with, and he often had very masculine conversations with them about knives, guns and cars, though they were occasionally hard to understand when they finished each others sentences.

Linus was the person he conversed with least frequently. The young, eccentric engineer didn't really do small talk and only spoke when he actually had something to say. However Clint enjoyed his company, as he was a welcomed break from Rachel. Also, after discovering that Clint was an archer, Linus had promised to make him a new bow once they got back. It turned out that Linus' end of year project at MIT had been a pimped up modern catapult.

The end of training steadily approached and Clint began to vastly improve. The bomb diffusion and computer hacking became easy for him. He learnt to built motors, set explosives, hot wire and repair seven different types of vehicles including a tank, hold his breath for extended periods of time, swim far, run even further, navigate, tight knots and make floats out of his pyjamas. Woe pushed him further than ever Clint could see himself beginning to improve. He learn a whole new collection of vulgar Chinese words, became stronger and fitter, and four days before their final mission he managed to hit Master Woe in the face. Agent Davies fainted and Woe gave Clint his home address, saying that if he ever came to Beijing without visiting, Woe would kill him. Rachel said that Clint should be tested for the X gene.

Finally training drew to a close and the final exams were upon them. The exams took place in the plain, square building Clint had seen on his very fist orientation exercise. It was larger than it currently needed to be as it was built for a far bigger group of recruits.

The practical exams were first, with hacking, explosives and engineering on the Monday. The recruits left the room after the last exam covered in oil and fragments of wire, tired by happy. Clint thought it had gone mostly well. The timer hadn't run out, he'd found all the required computer files and had managed to repair and restart a car, motorbike and a helicopter. (They were provided with just the engine as the entire helicopter wouldn't fit inside the room).

The next day were the languages and observation exams. For the languages, they were given a list of questions and then entered a room full of people all of different nationalities. The aim was to mill around the room and engage in casual small talk, directing the conversation to find the answers to the questions without the people realising what they were doing. Clint found it incredibly difficult, having very basic skills in small talk, or just social interaction in general. However, he managed to find the answers to all of the questions besides "what animal would you like to be reincarnated as," because he had absolutely no idea how to fit that into an everyday conversation.

The observation test consisted simply of walking through a field and trying to spot all of the things hidden in it. Clint found this supremely easy, thought it was rumoured that Rachel actually managed to miss the tank.

And then finally, on the last day was the general knowledge and IQ test. By the end of that day the questions had all blurred into one as Clint was ready to fall asleep at his desk, and the relief that it was all over was masked by his exhaustion.

The recruits staggered into the bunk house for five hours of precious sleep before rising early the next morning to pack what little belongings they had. They boarded a helicopter and left the island that had briefly become something akin to home. Clint fell into a deep sleep again but woke hours later to see miles and miles of arid sand.

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_Preview_

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_The colours were over whelming, and along with the sounds and smells they bombarded his senses. The scent of spice filled the air and hundreds of people jostled around him. Music could be heard off to the distance but it was masked by the calls of the salesmen, the crying of babies and the multitudes of different languages that washed over his head. It was exhausting. And seriously distracting._

Focus damn it!

_Clint blinked hard and kept his eyes trained on his target. Male, black hair and tanned skin. A long white robe that would be so out of place back home but was completely accepted here. Clint wished it wasn't- it would be easier to keep the man in sight if he was wearing something different to everyone else._

_Thankfully the man moved away from the heaving market square, and Clint quickly followed. The streets got steadily quieter and gloomier. Part of Clint missed the cheerful chaos from before. _

_He was careful to keep a few people between him and the target but as the area got less populated he was reduced to simply dipping into shadows and squeezing into doorways whenever the man looked behind him. He did so often, which was slightly worrying._

_Finally the target took an abrupt turning, leading them both down a dark and narrow alley. Clint's wariness escalated. He slowed, but tried to keep his body language open and innocent. He was just another tourist, not a master assassin in training. _

_But as he reached the alley way, he hesitated, frowning. The man was no where to be seen. And nor was there anywhere he could have gone… feeling a presence behind him, Clint whiled round quickly, but not quick enough. There was a bright explosion of pain as something heavy slammed into the back of his head._

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Hello! Ok I don't know how advanced training is over already. However I don't mind that much because the practice missions are going to be where the most things happen- team bonding, angst filled moments, happy moments, and lots of drama. That was a preview for either the upcoming chapter or the chapter after that, depending how it splits.

But the end is drawing near! I reckon there should be at least three more chapters, but not many more than that. I'm not entirely sure how this is going to draw to an end though but I have a pretty good idea

So thank you for the responses for the last chapters! I was informed that I made a couple of typos and I apologise- I'll fix them tomorrow

I'm not sure how happy I am with advanced training so it's possible that I'll go back an edit it at a later date, but all along advanced training was just a time to build up Clint's skills and the relationships between him and the other recruits so they can perform as a proper team during the practice missions. But thank you for reading and please review :D


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer- I don't own the Avengers.

Warning- Mild-ish violence

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The sun was fat and yellow, but despite being low on the horizon the heat was beating down. Clint's pack was heavy, and made walking on the sand even harder as it gave way beneath his feet. The sand got everywhere, rubbing between the cotton fabric and his skin, inside his socks and in his eyes. The sunglasses did little to calm the sun's glare.

They wanted to get to the compound before nightfall, when the temperatures would drop drastically. But there were no landmarks. Their situation lay primarily in the hands of their map and compass.

The mission brief had been presented to them the morning after their arrival. They had parachuted into the desert and were to hike towards one of SHIELD's fake base. The base was owned and run by SHIELD, equipped along with its usual team of agents. Its purpose was primarily for training agents.

After running surveillance on the base for twenty-four hours the team had to get inside, collect intel and sneak back out without being seen. It sounded relatively easy, but of course the agents knew the team were coming.

"Super fake bad guy base…" Rachel mused quietly. Conversation had been infrequent simply because there wasn't much to talk about. Rachel was more in charge of navigation due to her extensive piloting training. Clint wasn't entirely comfortable with giving the scatty agent-to-be all the responsibility but didn't argue.

"You know, I'd quite like to be a super fake bad guy." Rachel continued. No one commented. "I mean, you get to do all the bad guy stuff… you know, the sass, the sarcasm… but without actually doing bad guy stuff."

Chris looked across at her slowly. "Are you're gonna turn dark side?"

Rachel grinned. "I don't reckon the paycheque is as good." She was silent for a moment more. "You know… we should play a game."

Linus sighed quietly.

"What game?" Clint asked warily.

"I spy with my little eye… something beginning with S."

Clint smiled as he listened to the conversation unfold beside him.

"I really hate this game." Kieran sighed.

"Ditto." Chris added.

"Sand?" Clint suggested.

Rachel whooped. "Give your self a brownie point Hawkeye! OK, I spy with my little eye… something beginning with S."

"Isn't it Clint's go?"

"He who holds the map is king." Rachel replied firmly.

"Sand?"

"Nope."

"…Sky?"

"Well done Linus. I spy with my little eye… something beginning with S."

"…Sand?"

"Wow you're good at this…"

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After a while longer the game grew tedious and silence fell again. A slight wind picked up and the recruits pulled their bandanas over their faces as the sand whipped around them. The sun fell further towards the horizon and the light receded. Clint was growing wary when suddenly he grinned.

"Hey! I spy with my little eye something beginning with S." He pointed ahead.

Rachel squinted, and then grinned also. "Super fake bad guy base?"

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They set up the tent about a hundred metres from the base behind a small outcrop of rock. The compound itself was nothing but a small L shaped building. If it wasn't for the tall barbed wire fence that enclosed it and the countless heavily armed guards, it would have looked mostly inconspicuous and average other than being situated in the middle of the desert.

Linus and Kieran volunteered to take the first watch, and Clint and Chris would follow. But even though it was hours until he had to take over the older recruits, he couldn't sleep. At first he thought the uneasy feeling inside him was nerves, but as it escalated, it felt more similar to dread. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, only to be woken shortly after.

Clint dressed quickly in black cargo trousers and a black hoodie, sitting carefully behind the rocks and laying his rifle beside him. He kept his pistol in the holster strapped to his thigh. A moment later Chris nodded his greeting and set up on the other side of the camp to watch their backs.

The base seemed momentarily dormant. No one came in or out, not that he would have suspected them to- there was no road and very few vehicles would be able to drive over hundreds of miles of sand. The aerial images in their mission brief had shown a small helicopter pad on the opposite side of the base, now hidden from view. The guards worked on two hour shifts, and although there were only four guards outside the security seemed to be tight- Clint didn't see how there were going to get in or out easily. They weren't going to get inside without a fight, unless Linus could cook up some kind of-

Suddenly Clint leaned forward. Maybe it had been a trick of the light. Or maybe not. If it wasn't for his spectacular eyesight, Clint wouldn't have picked them out at all. But coming from the east side of the base were five men in black, almost invisible in the darkness. But Clint could see by the stealthiest of their movements that they weren't friends to them or the fake bad guys.

Clint rose slowly to wake the others, but darted round at the sickening muffled noise- silencers didn't completely stop the sound of a bullet. A man fell on the far side of the base, but the projectile didn't fit with the first group of men- and sure enough Clint picket out a further seven men west side.

Clint called out Chris's name under his breathe, and the twin appeared in a flurry of sand. Clint held a finger to his lips and then whispered "Wake the others. Looks like we have some real bad guys on out hands."

Chris's eyes widened, and he darted into the tent. By the time he emerged with the others, fully armed, the hostile force had taken out three more men.

"Twelve men," Clint whispered, "five from the east side and the remaining seven are approaching from the west side. Forget the mission, we have to save the remaining agents-"

"Remaining?" Rachel hissed.

"They've taken out four all four guards already. And this isn't part of the exercise- those were real gunshots."

"I didn't hear-" Kieran began, but Linus hurriedly cut him off.

"Silencers. He whispered.

Clint nodded quickly. "Me and Kieran and will take the west side, then you guys take the east. Fire a green flare if you've taken out the agents, and red if you need help. After that meet me outside the entrance on the right side of the building. Be careful- this isn't a drill. Go quietly, because if they see you you're dead- there are five of us and twelve of them. Use silencers. The only advantage we have is that they're not expecting us. Understand?"

There was silence for a moment as everyone stared at Clint with wide eyes and mouths open. Rachel was the first to shake herself awake. "Uh, yeah, ok."

Clint nodded, checking his ammo and strapping a serrated knife to his other thigh and a backup gun to his ankle. He looked up again before nodding again, and turning into the darkness.

Kieran swallowed hard and whispered "Good luck." He looked warily at his twin before darting off after the archer.

Clint's adrenalin kicked in and the assassin mindset pushed back the fear and dread, the part of him that knew that it he messed up now it wasn't just his life on the line, but the lives of his team, his friends. But thinking like that would help none of them. He locked away his feelings at the back of his head and nothing lay before him but the task in front. He attached the silencer onto his gun, and Kieran fumbled to do the same beside him. Clint slung his rifle over his shoulder and glanced across at the older man beside him. His skin was pale and his hands shook.

"We're not going to die tonight." Clint said quietly, but firmly.

Kieran glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and bit his lip. "Twelve of them and five of us. Or two of us and seven of them…" He shook his head slowly, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "You ever fought with odds that bad?" he asked bitterly.

Clint raised an eyebrow but kept his face blank. "Countless times. And I'm still alive."

Kieran stared, and then nodded slowly after realising that Clint wasn't lying, or even exaggerating.

There was a muffled bang and a yell from the other side of the compound and Kieran's expression grew blank. Clint forced himself not to think of whom that had hit- his side or theirs. He and Kieran took off at a run, and Clint swung his rifle round to his front, taking down three men with headshots before they had even turned around. The remaining four turned quickly, one receiving a shot in the arm and then the chest from Kieran. Clint dove into a forward roll which brought him within arms length of the final men. After knocking the gun out of the hands of the first, he downed him with a roundhouse kick. Another head shot and then Clint whirled around, pushing the arm of the man behind him upwards as he tried to take a shot at the archer's back. Clint snapped his neck, and turned to find Kieran finishing off the last man with a bullet to the forehead. Clint caught the older man by the shoulder and they took off running just as a green flare burst into the air. The metal gate swung open freely- the power seemed to have died. The rest of the team were waiting for them inside the gate, bruised, bloodied but very much alive.

Clint took in their pale, panicked complexions. "Everyone ok?" He asked quickly. They nodded.

They made their way to the side door. Clint cocked his gun and eased it open. They were greeted with a deserted hallway. They made there way inside silently, reaching the end of the corridor before finding their fifth dead body. Linus winced at the bloody wound, but once it became evident that the man wasn't breathing, they moved on.

The impostors had been efficient, and had taken down the SHIELD compound far too easily. But who were they? And had it been a coincidence that they had turned up on the very same night as the recruits?

The corridor then split, so Rachel and Clint took the right turning, Linus and the twins taking the left. They made their way silently through the compound, but found none alive.

"How come they're all dead?" Rachel whispered, swallowing hard.

Clint sighed and glanced warily behind them. "There must have been another team. Maybe they came in through the back of the building- that way we wouldn't have seen them."

"But how did they get here?"

Clint shrugged. "Same way as we did? Flew in and then walked."

"Surely we would have heard an aircraft?"

Clint frowned. "I don't have all the answers."

Rachel sighed heavily, and nodded. The corridor in front of them came to and end, but they were faced with an ominous looking steel door. They exchanged a glance, and then Clint beckoned for Rachel to come behind him. She nodded, and he threw the door open. Rachel gasped. A silent, gleaming jet lay in the centre of the circler room before them. Rachel nodded slowly. "I want one."

"Could you fly this thing?" Clint asked, running his hand along it's side.

"I can fly anything short of a spaceship." She replied, grinning weakly. "And even then I'd be willing to give it a go."

Clint nodded slowly, scanning the room. Then he grinned. "Look- a phone." On the opposite wall hung a telephone. Rachel sagged with relief but frowned after picking it up. She turned to face Clint, slamming it back down. "It's dead."

"They took the power out- the gates were open, remember?" Clint said, frowning.

"But there'd be a radio in the jet." Rachel pointed out excitably.

Clint smiled back briefly, and then grew serious. "But first we have to get back to the others."

"Why not contact SHIELD first?" Rachel asked, bewildered as they headed back to the door.

"Because if there was another team, they might still be inside." Just as he spoke, a scatter of gunfire sounded off to the distance.

The two remaining recruits took off running, skidding down the hallway. Suddenly Clint stopped and threw out his arm.

"Put down the weapons." A harsh voice snarled from around the corner. There was no movement, so the man spoke again; "Put down the weapons or I shoot your skinny friend again." Rachel stiffened beside him, and there was another brief stretch of silence before it was broken by the sound of guns being placed on the floor. Clint eased himself round the corner and was faced with a horrible sight- ten men dressed in black surrounded their three team mates, one of whom, Linus, was clutching his bloody side. His pale skin was even paler than usual.

"Very good. Lie on the floor, hands on your heads." The man speaking was side on from Clint, and he could see his tanned skin and dark hair.

The recruits obeyed, but Kieran demanded, "Who are you? What do you want?"

The man chuckled as the other man began to tie their hands and feet. "It does not matter who I am. It only matters who I work for."

"And who's he?" Chris asked, wincing as the rope was wound extra tight around his hands.

The man chuckled again. "She. Her name is Irina Tchoverick."

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So this was so not meant to happen. Originally they were going to do their final practice missions and everything would go great, the end. But then this happened and I'm not entirely sure how but I really like this idea, so I'm going to continue with it.

So Clint's old enemy has come back to haunt him! I said Irina would return but I didn't intend for it to happen that quickly. If you can't remember who she is, it's mostly explained in the last chapter of Too Far Gone.

The next chapter will be full of even more action and drama, Rachel will learn a little more about Clint and Clint will go all badass assassin mode. A well missed earlier character may turn up in one way or another but I'm more entirely sure yet. However the update will be on time as I know mostly what's going to happen.

Thank you for all the reviews and follows from last chapter! You are all amazing and I am grateful in ways I cannot express in words! Please review because the support is super amazing, and thank you for all the follows as well :D So I'll see you all soon, please tell me what you thought. Thanks for reading! :D


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer- I own nothing

Warning- mild violence and language.

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Even before the impact of the man's words had even fully sunk in, Clint was dragging Rachel back down the corridor.

"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed under her breath as they approached the door to the room the plane occupied.

"There are ten of them and two of us. And they have potential hostages." He replied abruptly.

"If we leave them there they could die!" She exclaimed.

"And if we charge right in we will _all _die. We need to contact SHIELD."

"Who even are they?" Rachel demanded. When Clint didn't reply she stopped walking, crossing her arms stubbornly. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on."

"Look- we have no _time, _they'll be looking for us-" Rachel didn't move, and the younger recruit sighed heavily, and swallowed. "Get us into the air and I'll tell you after we've contacted SHIELD."

Rachel narrowed her eye. And then she nodded curtly, heaving open the door of the jet. "Get in Hawkass, you have a lot of explaining to do."

The plane controls meant absolutely nothing to Clint but Rachel clearly understood the multitudes of buttons, leavers and switches.

"How do we get out?" Clint asked slowly, wary of flying a plane inside an enclosed space. Rachel just shot him a glare, and a flick of switches later, the roof slide across like the door of a lift, revealing the early morning sky.

"Thunderbird roof." Rachel said. The plane began to rise, but it didn't get into the open before a cluster of armed men burst into the room. Rachel winced as bullets scattered alone the plane's side, and only relaxed once they were over two hundred feet above the ground.

"Look," Clint said, pointing to the ground. "That would be how they got here." A short distance away from the compound was a small, private jet.

Rachel scowled. "That's got to be cheating. How come we didn't hear them?"

Clint shrugged. "SHIELD's technology is advanced enough for silent planes, what's to say other people aren't working along the same lines?"

Rachel sighed. "Keep an eye on the ground, tell me if you see anything." Clint nodded and saw her reach for the radio in the corner of his eye.

"This is Rachel Jackson, ID 13425, some crazy shit is going down in the dessert... I don't care if that's unprofessional, our fake bad guy base has just been attacked by real life bad guys and they've got hold of three of our team members… Do I sound like I'm joking?" Rachel scowled. "Damn it get hold of someone more competent…" There was a long pause, and then Rachel frowned before thrusting the radio into Clint's face.

"It's that man." She replied shortly at his bewildered expression, which didn't change at her answer.

"Hawkeye, report." Phil's calm tone cut across the static on the radio and Clint relaxed slightly. Clint explained as quickly as he could before Rachel stiffened.

"What is it?" Phil asked when Clint paused.

"There are men coming out of the compound" Clint said, standing to see clearer. "There are… fourteen, three of whom are on our team. They're heading for their plane… what do we do?" He demanded.

"Turn on the cloaking device or you'll come up on their radar." Phil ordered. "And then follow them- but keep your distance, the cloaking device isn't an invisibility cloak. Irina Tchoverick is on SHIELD's hit list- to kill or capture at sight. I want you to call in every fifteen minutes to update, we'll get a team ready for when you land. But you are _not_ to engage, do you understand me? You're not full agents yet and Clint, you even _being _there is breaking your contract. Observe only, don't get involved. Understood?"

Clint clenched his jaw. "Understood."

Rachel turned to him once he had put down the radio.

"So?"

"We have to follow at a distance but not be seen, and not get involved. We have to radio in every fifteen minutes for check ins and we have to use the cloaking device-"

Rachel nodded curtly. "Already done. I activated it once we got into the air." Rachel took the plane up to a higher altitude and began to tail Irina's men. "So." Rachel said slowly. "You wanna explain to me what the hell is going on."

Clint squirmed in his seat. In reality, he hadn't fully intended to carry out his promise.

Rachel's hands tightened. "Look, if this is going to work we have to be truthful with each other. So if you know something about this Irina woman, you had better bloody speak up because I wasn't to know exactly what I'm charging in to."

Clint straightened. "Well, we won't be charging in anywhere, we're not allowed to engage-"

Rachel raised an eyebrow wryly. "Please. I know you."

Clint sighed heavily. In reality that statement wasn't entirely correct, but Clint knew that going into a hostile situation with things unsaid never had positive results. And it was his fault that everyone had been dragged into this anyway.

Clint sighed heavily. "Look, I didn't join SHIELD in an exactly orthodox way… I used to be a freelance assassin. And a man named Ivan Tchoverick was my… I don't know, agent almost. Some rich asshole contacts him saying they want a guy taking out and I'm the one who pulls the trigger." Clint pushed his hands deep into his pockets. "Only… me and him had a, um, disagreement. And I killed him. So now it looks like his crazy daughter is coming for revenge."

Rachel stared. Her mouth was wide open and the plane was veering wildly off course. Only after it tipped at the forty-five degree angle did she manage to snap herself out of it. "Wow." She swallowed. "So you've killed people?"

"Chris and Kieran have killed people." Clint pointed out.

"But not _innocent _people."

Clint tensed and stared unseeingly out of the window. "I know."

"Why did you do it?" She asked quietly.

"I needed to eat."

"You could have, I don't know, worked in KFC or, or Starbucks, but no, _freelance assassin._" Rachel was seething. And although it wasn't that scary, it was upsetting- Rachel had been the first recruit to accept him, to reach out to him. And it hurt now that she was pulling away.

Rachel worried on her lip furiously. "When did you start?"

"Fourteen."

The plane rocked dangerously again. "_Fourteen! _You were killing people at _fourteen!?"_

Clint finally lost his temper. "Yes, fourteen! And some started younger! It's not a- a thought process or a conscious decision. You don't just wake up one morning and decide to kill people, there's no choice." Clint took a ragged breath and clenched his fist, he refused to meet Rachel's eyes.

"How did you end up here?" Rachel finally asked after a few moments of silence.

"They saw my "potential"" Clint replied dryly. "So Phil was told to bring me in or kill me."

Rachel sighed heavily. "I don't understand why you did all this stuff. But I guess you could have easily killed me by now… and for what it's worth, I trust you."

Clint nodded, giving a tight smile. "Good."

"Do you trust me?"

"Almost."

.

.

They flew on through the day, and then the day passed into night. Neither of them slept, and it wasn't until early the next morning that they began to lose altitude over a medium sized southern Indian city.

"Target has landed on an airstrip to the north of the city. Looks like some kind of market, lots of civilians in the area." Rachel said as she circled over the landing plane.

"Understood." Phil replied sharply. Other than a few hours he took to sleep during the night, he had been on the radio the entire time. "Stand by and wait for further orders."

"How long until a team will arrive?" Clint asked.

"Three hours at the least."

Rachel's eyes widened. "Threehours?" She repeated in disbelief. "They might not last that long!"

"They've had almost twenty-four hours already, we have to get them out of there." Clint added, his voice hard.

"Even if you were full agents, we would not send just two agents-" Phil began, but was cut off by Clint.

"Targets are exiting the plane. Thirteen people…" He hesitated, squinting at the ground. "They've split up, four, including Tchoverick are headed to the market and the rest are making their way north. Tchoverick must have been waiting in the plane."

"Are the recruits with them?" Phil asked sharply.

"Affirmative, heading north… they've entered a building, looks nothing more than a house."

"What are they doing here?" Rachel asked slowly.

"Tchoverick is entering a heavily populated area, correct? So either she is going to harm the civilians or use them as some sort of cover." Phil said.

"Either way, civilians could get in the crossfire." Clint summarised.

Phil immediately worked out his intentions. "Well they will if you go barging in."

"This is a good opportunity." Clint argued. "We can use the crowd as a cover. There are only four of them, I can easily take them out, and then we can go back to Linus and the twins."

"Not a chance." Phil replied firmly.

"Eight men have already died because of me. I'm not letting anyone else get in the cross fire." Clint finalised emotionlessly.

"Eight?"

"I counted." The guild briefly broke through his voice before he carefully hid it away again.

"That was of no fault of your own."

"Whether it was or wasn't doesn't matter. Tchoverick has killed too many people already and whatever her intentions are today, she will kill more in the future. She's on SHIELD's hit list, we have to take her out and we have the perfect chance-"

"Perfect?" Phil snapped, "Two of them and eleven of you?"

"Two of us and four of them." Clint argued. "Me and Kieran fought with worst odds last night and came out fine."

"This is a sensitive time frame." Rachel finally added. "And we're only wasting time arguing when we could save lives today. Isn't that what SHIELD's for?"

Phil sighed heavily. Clint could practically see him massaging a building headache. "Damn it." He growled. "Don't go anywhere, I'm getting Fury."

Rachel and Clint exchanged hopeful expressions.

There was a moment of silence before a deep voice growled, "Barton you are a pain in the damn ass. Give me one reason why I shouldn't haul you both back home."

"Because you've been searching for Irina Tchoverick for months now, and her father even longer before that. I took out him and now we have the opportune moment to take out her as well, but if we wait five hours she'll just get away."

"All of this doesn't change that fact that you're only recruits, and Barton you even being here is breaking your contract."

"We already fought them off in the desert and we were more outnumbered then. But now there are only four of them and two of us. The council can make an exception, Tchoverick is high up on the hit list, and I've been in far worse situations."

Finally, Fury sighed. "I don't doubt it. Ok, fine. You and Jackson are to follow Tchoverick. Wait to see what she's doing before you take her out, and if possible keep her alive- the other men don't matter. But don't take any unnecessary risks. A team will be there to aid you in… two hours and forty minutes. Understood?"

Clint nodded curtly. "Understood."

"Then good luck agents."

.

They landed the plane a short distance away from where Tchoverick had done. They then equipped themselves with as many weapons as they could without looking suspicious, and set off.

The market square was quickly growing more crowded. The exotic stalls would soon be full of people, and it was hard to keep an eye on their four targets ahead. However the civilians did function well as cover, and although Tchoverick looked behind her a few times, Clint didn't think they had been seen.

They reached about the centre of the market before the group divided, with Tchoverick and the bearded man from the compound moving right with the two remaining men splitting off in the opposite direction.

"Damn it." Rachel muttered.

"What is it?" Phil asked sharply from over the comms.

"The group has split in two with Tchoverick and beardy man going right and then goon one and two going left. The goons are carrying a suitcase."

"Beardy man?" An air of exasperation was creeping through Phil's professional tone.

"Yeah, he was the guy who seemed to be in charge of the fake bad guy base attack." Rachel added.

"Could the suitcase be a bomb?"

Rachel frowned. "I don't know. Maybe, but I don't think so."

"What about money?" Clint suggested.

Phil was silent for a moment, before he spoke. "Barton, you follow Tchoverick and… beardy man. Jackson, you tail the other two. Only attack if absolutely necessary, because without being able to watch each others backs you'll be easier to take out."

Clint and Rachel exchanged a glance before nodding, and splitting off.

Irina and the beardy man made their way into a busier part of the market. Very suddenly the area was packed, with people barging past him. The day was growing hotter and Clint was sweltering in his black clothing. The sun was glancing off the windows and other people's sunglasses, making it even harder to see.

Clint suddenly blinked. "_Shit!" _

"What happened?" Phil demanded.

"I lost her." Clint replied, scanning the area desperately.

"Both of them?"

"No, just Tchoverick. The other man is still ahead of me like nothing happened. Do I keep following?"

Phil hesitated. "Yes, but be extra careful. She's probably seen you, so she's dropped back."

Clint nodded despite knowing Phil couldn't see him. "Okay."

The colours were over whelming, and along with the sounds and smells they bombarded his senses. The scent of spice filled the air and hundreds of people jostled around him. Music could be heard off to the distance but it was masked by the calls of the salesmen, the crying of babies and the multitudes of different languages that washed over his head. It was exhausting. And seriously distracting.

_Focus damn it!_

Clint blinked hard and kept his eyes trained on his target. Male, black hair and tanned skin. A long white robe that would be so out of place back home but was completely accepted here. Clint wished it wasn't- it would be easier to keep the man in sight if he was wearing something different to everyone else.

Thankfully the man moved away from the heaving market square, and Clint quickly followed. The streets got steadily quieter and gloomier. Part of Clint missed the cheerful chaos from before.

He was careful to keep a few people between him and the target but as the area got less populated he was reduced to simply dipping into shadows and squeezing into doorways whenever the man looked behind him. He did so often, which was slightly worrying.

Finally the target took an abrupt turning, leading them both down a dark and narrow alley. Clint's wariness escalated. He slowed, but tried to keep his body language open and innocent. He was just another tourist, not a master assassin in training.

But as he reached the alley way, he hesitated, frowning. The man was no where to be seen. And nor was there anywhere he could have gone… feeling a presence behind him, Clint whiled round quickly, but not quick enough. There was a bright explosion of pain as something heavy slammed into the back of his head.

Clint blinked the white spots out of his vision and turned to find Tchoverick behind him, wielding a baseball bat. She swung at him again but he caught the bat before it came into contact with his face. He tried to yank it out of her hands, but the bearded man managed to get him into a headlock.

Tchoverick swung the bat, but at the last minute Clint managed to wriggle out of the headlock. The bat slammed into the man's nose, and Clint couldn't help but laugh at the stupidity of it all. Sadly the blow to the face didn't seem to put much of a hitch in his step, and the man turned to Clint with renewed anger. Irina was at his side, equally seething.

_Great- now I've pissed both of them off._

Clint sunk into a defensive position, his hands curled loosely in front of his face. Beardy man struck first, but Clint caught his fist and send his knee into the older man's ribs. He deflected a blow from Tchoverick, and the fight continued. He could hear Rachel and Phil conversing in his ear though was finding it hard to concentrate with the fists flying at his face.

"_Targets have exited the market." _Rachel said as Clint kicked Irina in the stomach.

"_They're sitting at a café off the main street; I think they're meeting someone." _Clint whirled away from Tchoverick's roundhouse kick.

"_settle somewhere where they can't see you and wait." _Coulson ordered. _"Clint, what's happening with you? Have you found Tchoverick?"_

Clint lost his concentration for just one moment, and winced as Irina kicked him in the chest. "Yeah, or something." He managed to gasp.

Irina raised her eyebrows. "Klepin, he's talking to someone."

The bearded man, Klepin, grunted and advanced again.

Phil must have been able to hear the thuds on the other side of the comm. because he them said sharply, "Hawkeye, focus. Plan ahead, think about defence, and take your time instead of running purely on instinct." Clint nodded, despite knowing Phil couldn't see him.

Hawkeye sunk into down slightly, one foot in front of the other and his hands protecting his face. Irina narrowed her eyes at the change of character.

Klepin stuck first, but the younger man blocked the blow with his forearm. He dodged and blocked the hits, never giving anything back but simply weaving out of the way as his opponents grew steadily more tired. He somersaulted and skidded, faster and faster until Tchoverick and Klepin couldn't get a hit in the right direction before he was moving off again. The befuddling fog that was winding its way throught his brain stopped him from reaching his top, lightening-fast speed but even so, they couldn't even touch him.

Finally Hawkeye's opportunity came as Klepin let his guard down for just one moment. He caught Kepin's arm by the wrist, forced it out straight and slammed the palm of his hand into his elbow. Klepin howled as the sharp snap sang or the bone through the air, and Hawkeye used the brief distraction to pull Irina's gun out of her thigh holster. There was a bang, and then Klepin collapsed to the floor with a bullet piecing his forehead.

Clint turned the gun on Irina, who hesitated. "Look," He began, "We can do this the easy way or th-"

Irina twisted, managing to pull a long, gleaming knife. She lunged but it was messy and uncoordinated- she was clearly thrown by the sudden lack of back up, and Clint was able to catch her wrist and twist the knife out of her grip. He twirled it idly. "Nice," he said. His grin suddenly vanished and his expression grew dark. "Now how about you co-operate?" he suggested slowly, his voice low and dangerous. "They don't care whether you're dead or not but I think I'd like to take you in alive. And I'm fully prepared to shoot out your kneecaps to get you to behave."

Irina stiffened and her eyes grew tight as she fought to hide her fear.

Clint raised an eyebrow coldly. "Coming?"

Her eyes drifted over to Klepin, who lay on the floor with blood seeping through the hole in his skull. And then she nodded.

Clint waved the gun so that she started walking in front, and he pushed her knife into his belt strap.

"Mess around and you might end up like cretin over there." He threatened lowly. Irina shot a glare at him, but continued walking. Clint had to give it to her, she had guts. He was glad she hadn't dissolved into a sobbing puddle of tears and fear, as that would have been irritating and somewhat inconvenient.

"Is it done?" Phil suddenly cut in.

"Yes."

Clint could practically hear Phil grinning. "Good job, Hawkeye. The team have made it early and landed to the north of the market, can you head over here?"

"Sure. Be there in five."

They entered the Market square and Clint had to hide his gun in the waist band of his trousers. Irina shot him and other glare and Clint saw the glint of malice in her eyes

"Do anything and I'll shoot you in the spine." Clint whispered.

Her jaw tightened and she turned to face ahead again.

The quinjet was easy to find due to the mass of both tourists and locals crowded around it, held back by a few agents, mainly due to their guns and steely glares.

Clint drew his own gun again and tightened a hand around Irina's upper arm- despite the agents milling around, this was probably her best opportunity to escape due to the vast crowd. A moment later there was a familiar hand on his shoulder.

Clint stared at Phil in bewilderment. "What are you…"

Phil smiled, snapping a pair of handcuffs around Irina's wrists. "Decided to come along for the ride." He stared to push Tchoverick through the crowd but wryly added, "The easy way or the hard way? Really?" Clint couldn't seem to come up with a decent comeback and just rolled his eyes. Phil glanced at him, frowning briefly. He looked like he was about to say something more, before Rachel's urgent voice cut through their comms.

"Someone's coming. Female, small, brown hair… she's sitting down with to Tchoverick's men."

Clint and Phil exchanged a glance before the latter pushed Irina into the hands of another agent.

"We're on our way." Phil said grimly. "Do not engage until we arrive. Keep us updated." He turned to the crowd and yelled for them to get back. They stared at the older man dressed in an immaculate suit despite the sweltering heat, yielding a gun with a dangerous looking equally armed youth, and parted quickly.

They took off running, but progress was slow through the milling crowds. Clint whirled around and grabbed Phil's arm. "Roofs, faster." He said shortly before taking off in the opposite direction. Phil hesitated before working out where Clint was heading- a ladder up the side of one building that would lead them to the flat roofs overhead.

Once up the ladder Phil took the lead as he was the only one who knew the way. Clint was vaguely aware of some backup agents thundering along behind, but the fog was beginning to settle over his mind again and he was finding it hard to think straight. Tchoverick must have hit him harder than he had previously thought.

But finally the café came into sight, nothing more than a small, grimy building with a number of rickety metal tables and chairs set outside. And inconspicuous group sat at the far side, but Clint picked them up immediately. There were two men who looked northing out of the ordinary other than the subtle shape of a gun under each of their jackets. Facing away from him was a young woman with dark brown hair who looked vaguely familiar.

Phil signalled hurriedly for the other agents to head round the other side of the café and Clint watched them go with a growing sense of apprehension.

Abruptly, the woman turned around.

Even without the vibrant red hair, her pale, porcelain skin and shinning green eyes were unmistakable. She looked straight up at Clint, and she looked briefly surprised. She looked even more beautiful than before but there was a subtle broken set to her body language. Her shoulders were tenser, she was even skinnier, and there were lines around her eyes that marked prolonged fear and fatigue. Clint fought to keep the heavy feeling in his chest from marring his face.

Clint glanced at Phil to find him openly staring at his younger charge.

"What?" Clint asked, and Phil almost flinched at the all too familiar emptiness of his tone.

Phil opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a scatter of gunfire. The two men had also noticed the men dressed in black prowling across the rooftops and now shots were being exchanged.

Clint took off, leaping over the side of the building and rolling to soften the impact. Phil tried to follow but cursed softly as he saw Clint veer off into a narrow alley way in pursuit of the woman.

.

Clint fought to combat the exhaustion in his limbs and the concussion that sapped his strength. He planted one foot after another, powering the dying adrenaline through his muscles in order to run faster.

She was just a few metres ahead of him. Clint didn't know how maybe narrow maze like alleyways they'd weaved through but he had vaguely heard Phil calling through his comms. a few times. Clint knew she could run for hours and hours before tiring and although they'd been going for some time, neither had hit their limits yet.

The buildings were getting taller, more like apartments complexes. Very suddenly she took a sharp left up a fire escape, and Clint hurried after her. They climbed higher, and Clint was startled to see that the sun was beginning to set over the sandy city. The exhaustion was beginning to settle into both of them and they slowed until they were just walking up the flight of stairs.

They reached the top of the building and she walked over the west side of the roof before sitting at the very edge. He followed and sat beside her.

For a long while they didn't speak. They were careful to sit at least a foot away from each other, but comfortable enough to sit side by side.

Clint glanced sideways at her as she stared at the setting sun.

"I can't stay long." Natasha finally said quietly.

Clint nodded.

"Who are they?"

"SHIELD." He replied.

Natasha stared at him. "You work for them?"

He nodded again. "They found me, not the other way around. They're good."

Natasha stared for a moment more before facing the forward again.

"You get what you need?" Clint asked.

She nodded. "Money. And a letter about something or other."

"A hit?"

"I haven't read it yet."

Clint stared again, swallowing hard. "Come with me."

Natasha stared back, eyes wide. Then she smiled. "You look well."

Clint smiled sadly, knowing that the offer had been turned down and there was no way for changing her mind. "I am well. Better than I've been in years."

She smiled back. "I'm glad." She said genuinely. Clint didn't ask how she was back because he already knew- it was plain to see, written all over her face, and it made his chest hurt.

They sat for a while longer before the sun sank below the horizon and they were shrouded in darkness.

"I should go." She said finally.

Clint nodded, and they both rose. "Good luck Natasha." He said quietly. She smiled back briefly, and then she was gone. He waited until he knew she had managed to get a decent way away before calling Phil.

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STILL ALIVE!

I really don't have a proper decent excuse for this phenomenally late update other than writers block and life stress. I wasn't that happy with the beginning of the chapter but I strewed over it for freaking ages before finally giving up. Natasha may seem a little off character but this will all be explained in my next story. It will be in two parts, one set before Don't Tell and the other afterwards. It will be about Natasha and Clint but other than that I don't want to give much away, but I'm very excited!

I don't know how to say sorry enough for the update so as an apology I'm open for requests. They can be hurt/comfort, tragedy, humour, romance, anything, but preferably no smut. Whether it's a one-shot or a couple of chapters long doesn't matter but basically I'll write almost whatever you want as a massive apology. You can message me privately or review, I'll try to do as many as possible!

So thank you so much for reading and reviewing, I'm so sorry for the wait and please send me any requests. The next update will be by Sunday the latest and it will be the last chapter (agh emotion). Thank you!

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This is the first draft of the summary of the second part of the upcoming story (if that makes sense)

Something happens that was never, ever meant to happen- the Helicarrier is attacked. The entire organisation is in turmoil, and with Natasha's life on the line, she flees. However she doesn't get very far, and is soon joined by a group of agents she might even go as far as to call friends. So armed with a doctor suffering from chronic sarcasm, a pilot with a need for speed and a carnie fighting with what is effectively a fancy stick and a piece of string, the team embarks on an epic mission- to seek revenge.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer- I don't own the avengers

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Clint made his way back onto the street. His head was throbbing like someone was beating it from the inside and it was almost beyond him to think of anything more complicated than putting one foot in front of the other. He stumbled down the last step and found Phil at the bottom of the stairs. He eyes the young archer warily. "Did you hit your head?"

Clint blinked a couple of times and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. "Uh… yeah. Baseball bat."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "You never do anything half way, do you?"

Clint just stared.

"Are you dizzy, confused? Do you feel sick?" Clint didn't reply, so Phil continued. "You're probably concussed."

"What?" Clint mumbled.

Phil hid a grin, and slung Clint's arm over his shoulder. "Never mind, lets just get you back. Eric isn't going to happy."

Clint scowled half heartedly and pulled away from the older agent. Knowing that he was fighting a loosing battle, Phil settled to hovering beside the archer as they headed back down the street.

"Have you heard from the others?" Clint asked almost immediately.

"We got your team back, they're going to be ok. Linus might be out of action for a while but he'll pull through." Phil answered, knowing exactly who Clint was talking about.

Clint nodded and they walked on in silence for a while.

"So… what happened back there?" Phil finally asked.

Clint glanced at him with incomprehension. "What?"

"You lost her?"

"She was fast, and I'm concussed."

"Clint, she looked like she hadn't eaten in a week."

Something flicked across the teen's face, but it was gone before Phil could properly work out what it was.

"Clint, did you know her?" Phil asked staring hard at Clint.

Clint shrugged lazily. "Never seen her before."

The concussion must have been more serious than Phil had previously thought, because even with Clint's impeccable lying skills, Phil could tell that this hadn't been the truth. But he also knew that there was currently no way he was going to get the truth, whatever it was.

.

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Consciousness came slowly, and for the first time in a while Clint awoke feeling relaxed, cocooned in warm blankets, having no desire whatsoever to move.

"Get up asshat, I need this room for some idiot recruit who decided to try out archery."

Clint groaned and opened his eyes slowly. Eric Yale was standing beside his bed flipping through a few sheets of paper, paying the young agent in the bed no attention.

"Archery?" Clint mumbled sleepily.

"Mm, you and your team seem to have become popular after capturing the woman fourth on SHIELD's hit list almost single handedly. I can't think why. But since the news broke everyone's been talking about it and I've had five archery related injuries."

"One guy shot another guy in the ass." Clint turned to find Phil leaning in the doorway, grinning slightly.

"Hilarious." Eric said dryly.

"It was a little." Phil insisted, his grin growing.

"You're not the one who had to stitch him up." Eric scowled and turned to the teen in the bed. "You're free to go. You're on enough painkillers to roofie an elephant." Eric tossed him a bottle of pills, which Clint caught clumsily. "You can have these too, one every eight hours for a week if you feel like you need them. Take more than that and you'll die. Goodbye."

Clint stared at the doctor for a moment before climbing unsteadily to his feet.

"Your team are in the room down the hall." Phil told him, "I'll be down there in a moment." Clint nodded slowly and shuffled out of the door.

"Did you go over the top with the painkillers?" Phil asked wryly.

"He tried to kill me the last time he woke up in the infirmary, so I drugged him."

Phil stared at the doctor for a moment and realised that he didn't seem to be lying. For the life of him Phil couldn't really understand why Fury put up with Eric, but supposed it had something to do with his almost faultless track record. Eric Yale could practically raise the dead.

Eric was shifting from foot to foot awkwardly, looking as if he was about to speak. Phil raised and eyebrow, and Eric cleared his throat uneasily. "You, uh… you did a good job with, uh…" Eric indicated to the door vaguely. "Good agent there. Good kid."

Phil grinned slowly. "Oh yeah?"

Eric's usual scowl returned quickly. "He's a right smartass though. He's impulsive. No self-perseverance, he'll end up in here every other assignment."

Phil raised an eyebrow again.

Eric shifted awkwardly again. "He grows on you, that's all."

Phil smiled. "That he does."

"Like mould."

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Clint ignored the recruit waiting outside the door- judging by the weeping red stripe across his face, he'd hit himself with the bow string. His eyes widened at the sight of Clint walking past, and his face turned even redder than it already was.

He found his team in a room a few doors down. Linus was lying in the bed, pale but smiling, with the others crowded around him. Clint hesitated before entering. Linus' bullet wound was due to him and he knew it. Kieran and Chris had been trapped inside a plane for hours on end while Linus practically bled out on the floor, and it was no ones fault but his.

Very suddenly the door was yanked open by Rachel, who dragged him inside the room by the collar of his t-shirt.

"I told them Irina was a jealous lover from your shady past coming for revenge." She said firmly.

Clint stared. "What?"

Rachel sniggered. "I'm kidding. I told them Irina was an old enemy from your shady past coming for revenge because you killed her father, Ivan Tchoverick."

Rachel waved her arms in a frantic unsuccessful calming manor as she saw the panic surface in the teen's face. "But no hard feelings!"

"Yeah, don't worry about it man." Kieran said from where he was lounging in a plastic chair beside the bed.

"I mean, ok we got kidnapped and they shot Linus, but we did take down the leader of one of the world's most dangerous organisation of assassins." Chris added.

"I feel so awesome right no I can't bring myself to care that I got shot by your jealous lover." Linus finished in a relaxed, spaced out tone.

"Ignore him, he's sky high on morphine." Kieran explained.

"She's not my jealous lover-" Clint added quickly.

Rachel just grinned. "Denial."

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Phil walked into the room to catch the new agents talking about nothing in particular. Clint was beside Linus' bed, sitting precariously on his chair, leaning back so that it had only two legs touching the floor.

Clint glanced up at him as he entered, and their aimless conversation fell silent.

"Agents, Director Fury would like to see you."

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Despite having one less maniac murderer to worry about, Fury looked just as serious as usual.

"Does he ever look happy?"

Rachel whispered to Clint, who replied, "Only at other people's suffering."

Fury's one eyed death glare zeroed in on Clint, who had a bad feeling that the director had heard him.

"Agents, I would like to congratulate you on your recent success. It would seem that you have managed to eliminate the last of the Tchoverick family, and their deaths will be a blow to the other members of their professions. You performed very well under pressure and under unexpected circumstances. This performance merits you to agents of level four clearances. I wish you luck in the rest of your career and welcome you to our organisation. Thank you, dismissed." Fury's glare zeroed in on Clint once more. "Agent Barton, stay behind I'd like a word."

Fury waited until they were alone in the room before speaking.

"Barton, take a seat."

Clint sat nervously- the situation felt all to like being told off in the head teacher's office.

"Barton, I wanted to commend you personally for your performance. However I must warn you that we seem to have a traitor among us- Tchoverick cannot how known how to find you without inside help. I'm just warning you to watch your back."

Clint nodded. "Yes sir."

"Anyway, we have an assignment for you." He continued. Across from him, Clint straightened to attention. "It's a smaller job than what you have just completed- nothing more than a simple snatch and grab, some intel that we would like to get our hands on. Should you accept, we'll be sending you to Germany. Agent Coulson will be accompanying you and he will explain the mission in full. You will depart in ten days, provided you think you will be well enough."

Clint nodded. "I will be."

"Good. Dismissed." Clint got up to leave but was stopped by Fury adding, "Oh and Barton, look out for that woman. We don't know who she is or what she wants, but keep your eyes open."

"Yes sir."

Clint closed the door behind him. He decided he may as well head for the range as he hadn't shot a bow in far to long- providing, of course, that there was a bow still intact due to the fangirling new recruits.

As for Natasha, of course he'd keep an eye out for her- that's what he always did.

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_To be continued…_

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Hello! Ok sorry for the late update. But here it is! The sort of last chapter. It's the last chapter of this particular story but I'll be writing two more stories, one set before this one and another one afterwards. It will go into Clint and Natasha's childhood and how they know each other. It will be set during Clint's assassin years, so you'll see more of dark angry Clint but also get a glimpse of what he was like as a child once you got past all these things, and how he became who he was. It will also greatly feature Natasha, all the things that she has been forced to do with the red room, her trust issues and the fact that she isn't exactly who the Red Room want her to be. The second story will have more humour, more action, more angst, more everything!

Sadly I've made the decision to go on hiatus in order to write these upcoming projects all in one go- I started posting Don't Tell before I'd reached the end which was partially why I posted chapter 12 so drastically late. But I'll be posting updates on my fanfiction bio as to my progress, and you're completely welcome to message me to see where I'm at. I'll also post the summary in my bio and maybe a preview in this story. Optimistically, I'm aiming for under a month, but I can't be sure.

However if you have any requests as to drabbles or oneshots please message me, I'd love to hear from you

So thank you so much for sticking with me! I've greatly enjoyed writing this and I'm really looking forward to the next ones. Thank you for your reviews, favourites, follows and just general advice- the support has been fantastic. Please review for this chapter- did you like it? Too short, too long? Thank you, and see you soon


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